


Stand Against the Tide

by sometimes_i_right



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: ...Kinda, Alternate Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, Dark fic, Emotional Manipulation, If You Squint - Freeform, Inspired by Fanfiction, Jango is a Little Shit, Jango is a dick, M/M, Melida/Daan, Qui-Gon is Problematic, Slow Burn, just problematic, not a dick, title may change, who am I kidding? Integration is all about that manipulation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:34:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 23,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24361414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sometimes_i_right/pseuds/sometimes_i_right
Summary: Just because the galaxy is at war does not mean planetary problems cease to exist. The front lines are constantly shifting in the Outer Rim territories, and Melida/Daan is quickly looking to be a strategic foothold against Mandalorian forces seeking to encroach on Republic territory. Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn and his Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi are deployed to try and negotiate peace between the Melida and the Daan, and, if the Force is with them, create a much-needed bulwark against the Mandalorian Empire.
Relationships: Jango Fett & Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jango Fett/Obi-Wan Kenobi
Comments: 295
Kudos: 813
Collections: Anything But Qui-Gon, Favorite Rereads, Integration: The Collection, Melida/Daan, favourite fics from a galaxy far far away





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Integration](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11920878) by [Millberry_5](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Millberry_5/pseuds/Millberry_5). 
  * Inspired by [Kairkiyc](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23450803) by [biscuitlevitation](https://archiveofourown.org/users/biscuitlevitation/pseuds/biscuitlevitation). 



> If you haven't read either of the stories this work was inspired by, you're really missing out and should absolutely read them. If you have read them... you should go reread them because they're worth it.
> 
> This is an Integration AU (though the actual integrating part of Integration is a long time coming). All you need to know about this universe is that the Republic has been at war with the Mandalorian Empire and the Sith Empire for an unspecified but very long time. I've got a whole notebook on my thoughts of an expanded universe, but they shouldn't have any impact on this story.
> 
> Obi-Wan is 16, Jango is 25.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't read either of the stories this work was inspired by, you're really missing out and should absolutely read them. If you have read them... you should go reread them because they're worth it.
> 
> This is an Integration AU (though the actual integrating part of Integration is a long time coming). All you need to know about this universe is that the Republic has been at war with the Mandalorian Empire and the Sith Empire for an unspecified but very long time. I've got a whole notebook on my thoughts of an expanded universe, but they shouldn't have any impact on this story.
> 
> This is a dark fic. While it may take a while, Obi-Wan will eventually end up in the hands of the Mandalorians. They're a manipulative bunch in this universe, and while Obi-Wan may end up happy and healthy (possibly even more so than in canon), it's not a happy or healthy journey to get there.
> 
> Obi-Wan is 16, Jango is 25.

Obi-Wan Kenobi cracked one eye open as he felt the ship lurch back into real space, silently taking in the well-used room. The ship he and his master had shared for the last month was cramped, with barely room for a person Qui-Gon's size in the cockpit. As a result, he had been relegated to the narrow galley and its narrow bench for the approach to the latest in a long string of planets.

As Jedi, they had a great many duties to the galaxy at large and Republic in particular. War with both the Sith and the Mandalorians kept the Grand Army of the Republic and its Jedi Generals busy. Obi-Wan, for one, had not seen the temple on Coruscant in over a year.

Qui-Gon was speaking with traffic control, a discussion that was taking far longer than Obi-Wan expected. Obi-Wan grit his teeth as the ship shook in rough air. Kriff, he hated flying. He hated not piloting even more, but Qui-Gon did not approve of underage flying. The ship shook one more time, and then Obi-Wan could feel the ship bank for a gentle landing.

He was on his feet next to the ramp before Qui-Gon could finish extracting himself from the cabin. Obi-Wan did his best to school his face in the perfect serene façade all Jedi were expected to wear, self-consciously tucking and untucking his hands in his oversized sleeves as he waited.

Qui-Gon paused next to the ramp, blue eyes flittering over the Padawan before crinkling in what Obi-Wan had slowly learned was approval. Obi-Wan let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding as the Jedi Master punched the door release and led the way out.

Two small welcoming parties stood several feet away from each other, trading glares. Both Jedi paused briefly, taking in the scene, before pressing forward like normal.

"Greetings," Qui-Gon opened with a shallow bow. "I am Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn. This is my Padawan, Obi-Wan Kenobi." Obi-Wan bowed as well, slightly deeper.

The party on the left stepped forward, offering their own shallow bow to increased glares from the party on the right. The left party's leader, a tall man with brown hair shaved close to his skull, opened his mouth to reply but was cut off by the other party.

"Welcome, Jedi, to Daan. I am Wemont," a stocky man with graying hair stated, glare never leaving his Melida counterpart.

"Welcome to Melida, he means," the brown haired man interrupted. "I am Wehutti. These are my lieutenants-"

"Jala, Tiiona, Linor-"

"-Kodo, Tacko, Jeelasa-"

Obi-Wan fought the urge to sigh or pinch his brow, focusing instead on keeping a perfect sabaac face. Qui-Gon accepted the overlapping introductions with aplomb, nodding at each member of the welcome party politely.

"I trust you both know why we are here?" Qui-Gon asked as Wemont and Wehutti led the Jedi towards the city.

"Yes, yes," Wemont said, eye-roll audible in his voice. "Your war is coming to Daan and you want our help."

"Not quite. War is coming to Melida/Daan, but we are here to talk peace between your peoples."

"Peace? With these traitors?" Wehutti scoffed. "Hardly."

"Because you're one to talk!" Wemont sniped. "Who destroyed the Halls of Learning? Oh right, you."

"That's enough," Qui-Gon interrupted firmly, stepping between the two faction leaders. Obi-Wan reflexively winced at the tone used by exasperated crechemasters across the galaxy, even as the two men ducked their heads slightly. "We shall discuss this in further detail later. For now, my Padawan and I have been traveling for several days. We would appreciate a chance to freshen up before we begin sorting out this feud."

That set off another round of bickering between the two leaders. Apparently even something as simple as housing a neutral party on neutral territory was too much to ask.

Force, this mission was going to be trying.

Eventually, Qui-Gon managed to convince the two parties to leave them alone so they could rent a room at a small hotel. Obi-Wan was practically burning with questions, but he held his tongue, joining his master in sweeping the room with the Force for bugs and setting out their overnight packs.

"Master," Obi-Wan finally asked. "What are you planning? Why did you want to shake Wehutti and Wemont so badly?" According to ship time, it was still mid-morning and far too early to "freshen up" after they had already done so when they woke a few hours ago. 'Why are we here, when the locals clearly don't want us?' he wanted to ask, but didn't. It wasn't his place to ask.

If the locals did not call for aid but the Jedi were intervening with planetary affairs, that could only mean the Senate had ordered this mission. There was a bigger picture here, but Obi-Wan was not allowed to see it.

No matter. He would figure it out. Qui-Gon often gave him these sorts of puzzles as they hopped across the Republic, fighting on a plethora of seemingly random planets. It was up to Obi-Wan to understand why they were visiting one world versus another and how it fit in the galaxy (and the wars) at large.

Qui-Gon smiled, offering some horribly opaque excuse about "children" and "understanding when you're older, my young apprentice." Obi-Wan did his best to hide his scowl, though he suspected his master could feel his discontent in the Force.

They meditated in their room for a while, Obi-Wan struggling to find peace and clarity. His mind kept drifting, running over the Melida and the Daan interactions, running over the tense walk into the city, running over the empty, bomb-pocked streets. There was something there, but it eluded him.

When the Jedi Master felt enough time had passed, he rose from meditation and led the way back to the city center. The opposing factions were easy to spot as they entered the government plaza, with each faction claiming half the empty, surprisingly battle-free area for themselves. It was truly perplexing how they could do such a good job splitting the planet in half - could even keep certain key areas peaceful! - yet couldn't come to any other agreement.

Obi-Wan dismissed the thought as Qui-Gon glared Wehutti and Wemont into seats around a large conference table in what Obi-Wan assumed was, on a peaceful Melida/Daan, the capitol building. Of course, as the two men immediately devolved into bickering, getting the two factions in the same room was only the beginning.

In his three years as a Jedi Padawan, Obi-Wan had seen a number of planets and their myriad problems.

Most common by far were Sith acolytes and the occasional, terrifying Sith Lord leading endless armies against otherwise defenseless worlds. The people on those planets had been terrified, but straightforward and easy to help. Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan would lead their men into battle, rebuff whichever acolyte (or Sith Lord, if their luck was particularly bad) was scrabbling for power, and immediately go on to the next planet threatened by the Dark Side.

Less common, but no less complicated to help, were the planets threatened by the Mandalorians. The famed Jedi Killers delighted in battle, mercilessly cutting through any civilian, Jedi, or even droid foolish enough to reach for a blaster. Only Knights and Masters were supposed to go to the Mandalorian Front, but the fronts often shifted, and Obi-Wan had once found himself standing opposite the iconic t-visor early in his apprenticeship. Only Qui-Gon's timely appearance had saved his life that day.

This planet was quickly falling into the least common, but often most exasperating, category.

Located well within the Republic's borders, the people living on domestic planets were able to avoid the bulk of either war. The biggest threats to these planets were far more varied, but it was these planets Qui-Gon was most famed for aiding. How many Jedi Masters could boast ending a family feud that almost crippled a whole planet's gemstone economy? Or recovering a long-lost princess before her uncle wrongfully took the throne?

Eyeing Wehutti and Wemont, Obi-Wan suspected he would soon be adding "ended a century long civil war" to his master's list of accomplishments.

Qui-Gon had somehow managed to get the two leaders to accept a mug of caf each. It was one of his master's favorite opening gambits, and Obi-Wan always delighted in watching how well it worked. He was now leading them through an airing of grievances, which Obi-Wan realized he was not paying attention to.

Qui-Gon caught his eye and Obi-Wan flushed. Busted.

To hear the two leaders describe it, the Melida and the Daan had each committed horrible atrocities against the other. Melida destroyed the Halls of Learning, so the Daan destroyed a school yard. The Daan destroyed a weapons factory, so the Melida destroyed a speeder depot. The Melida killed Wemont's sister, and the Daan killed Wehutti's wife.

At this point, Obi-Wan suspected neither side knew why they had started fighting. He refused to think of how familiar that felt.

They continued for hours, Qui-Gon intervening any time either person started shouting. By hour three, Obi-Wan was impressed at the sheer number of grievances each side had against the other. Part of him had to wonder how many complaints were imagined or fabricated just for this session. By hour six, his reluctant admiration had shifted to exhaustion and exasperation. Both sides were so bitterly embattled, they couldn't even stop bickering about the other side's bickering!

His stomach growled at hour seven, loud enough for both representatives (it was hard to think of them as leaders or men when they acted like very young initiates squabbling over a favorite toy) to look up. Qui-Gon had a strange look on his face as he dismissed the Padawan to find food.

Obi-Wan did his best to shove his dismay and embarrassment down, rose from the table, offered a deep bow of apology, and left the room with his dignity in tatters. He wasn't entirely sure he imagined the representatives tittering at his departure and did his best to release his shame to the Force.

The food scene in Zehava left much to be desired. One of the best parts of peacekeeping missions was the chance to eat something other than ration bars and reconstituted nutrislop, but the civil war had torn more than the Melida and Daan apart.

He had his choice between a thin broth with mystery floating… meat? or some thinly sliced gray… thing. The gray thing had stringy connective tissue clinging to the edges, guaranteeing a tough, unpalatable chew. The mystery floating meat was bulbous and lumpy, and the broth had a strange oily film clinging to the top. Neither were particularly appealing, and the nerf stroganoff flavored nutrislop Obi-Wan had hidden in his bag seemed better the longer he stared at his options.

Something moved out the corner of his eye.

Obi-Wan turned, fingers itching for his lightsaber. The streets were mostly empty, though a few people wandered through the market plaza. The Force offered nothing more than a vague warning, just the same constant hum of threat-future-unclear Obi-Wan felt any time he left Coruscant.

He wandered towards the center of the plaza, constantly scanning the area for whatever had caught his attention. Everyone was wary, blasters strapped to hips or slung across backs, but it seemed otherwise peaceful.

Maybe he was imagining-

The Force shrieked in warning, and Obi-Wan dove for the ground as a group of people burst from a nearby storefront, blasters blazing. His lightsaber snapped into being as he shakily rose to his feet, deflecting blaster bolts into the blaster-scored tile beneath his feet the whole time.

Who were these people? Melida? Daan?

Did it matter?

More blaster bolts arced from behind him. He was caught in the crossfire, his lightsaber the only thing keeping him alive.

He felt a wave of concern across the training bond. Obi-Wan spared a second to send a reassurance, before wincing as a blaster bolt slipped through his defense to singe one bicep. He had to find better cover.

He gathered the Force, breathed deep, and launched himself into an Ataru flip, deflecting another bolt midair. None of the blaster wielding combatants seemed to care as he landed and darted off to the side, sliding into cover behind the food stall he had been visiting earlier.

The plaza was in complete disarray. The first group of people had spread out, firing indiscriminately at anything that moved. Another group had sprung up opposite them, doing much the same. A smattering of people lay collapsed across the plaza, smoke rising from their corpses.

The fight didn't make sense. There was no clear objective to be won, no apparent target. Why had the first group opened fire? Had the second group been lying in wait? What was the point?

There was no time for answers as the building adjacent to him suddenly exploded.

Obi-Wan felt himself go flying. His ears were ringing, dust stinging his eyes and blurring his vision. He groaned, summoned the Force to bolster his body, and rose into a shaky crouch. Head, arms, hands, chest, legs… they all appeared to be working, but he suspected he would be one giant bruise tomorrow. He summoned his lightsaber back into his hand, ignited it, and scanned his surroundings.

Something darted off into an alley.

Obi-Wan took off after it.

They twisted between buildings, the firefight picking back up after the shock of the building blowing up wore off. Obi-Wan shouted for the person - because it had to be a person, even if they were small - to stop. To his surprise, the person turned, flashed a very rude hand gesture, and continued running.

Obi-Wan pushed for more speed, ignoring his protesting muscles. He thrust one hand out, grabbing the person's ankle with the Force, and pulled.

A high pitched yelp, and the person landed flat on the pavement.

A series of clicks sounded around him, and Obi-Wan skid to an abrupt stop as he realized he was surrounded. He extinguished his lightsaber and slowly raised his hands, warily eyeing the people emerging from the shadows. Masks completely obscured their features, but he could tell a few things. Namely, they were armed, twitchy, and, for the most part, small.

He had a bad feeling about this.

"You with the Elders?" one of the taller people asked. Voice was male, pitched low to try and sound intimidating.

Obi-Wan frowned, eyes darting between the children. Because yes, these were definitely children. On a primarily human planet like Melida/Daan, only children were that short. Or had voices that dropped and squeaked in turn.

"You stupid? He's too young to be an Elder," an older girl snapped, though her blaster never wavered from his chest. "You one of us?"

Obi-Wan hesitated briefly, not sure what the girl meant and not sure he wanted to ask for clarification. "Depends on your point of view," he answered and immediately wanted to smack himself. The children tensed even further, fingers hovering terrifyingly close to the blaster triggers. "I'm not an adult, or from Melida/Daan, if that's what you're asking. I'm Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi Padawan of Master Qui-Gon Jinn," he clarified, hoping it wouldn't get him shot.

A silent message passed between the children. He sensed someone approach from behind and did his best not to react violently when rough hands removed his lightsaber and started binding his wrists behind his back with what felt like rope. He scowled. He hated rope; it chafed and left burns when he inevitably escaped. Durasteel binders were far more civilized.

"Don't know what that is, but you're coming with us," the boy stated, nudging Obi-Wan's chest with his blaster.

"And who is us?" Obi-Wan asked, trying to keep the snark from his voice. He knew he wasn't entirely successful.

"We're the Young," a boy whose voice had yet to break chirped cheerily, prodding his back hard with a blaster. Obi-Wan stumbled forward towards a sewer entrance.

Force, Obi-Wan hoped these kids didn't accidentally shoot him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So uh... yeah. Hi. Long time lurker, first time poster. I would like to thank the 'rona and all the excellent Jangobi fics on this site for kicking me into gear. Please let me know what you think! It's been years since I wrote anything other than technical papers, and I don't have a beta reader to double check me. All I can do is run what I've got written through my own filter and hope it comes out clear. But if anyone wants to try... ..... .......
> 
> It's been 15±2 years since I read the Jedi Apprentice series, and I'm not about to find those books for a reread. Wookiepedia doesn't have much information either, so I'm just gonna roll with it and see what happens. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Hope everyone is staying safe and healthy!


	2. Chapter 2

The Young were aptly named. The oldest of their group, a girl named Cerasi and a boy named Nield, were eighteen and nineteen respectively. Everyone else ranged in age from five to sixteen, with the vast majority hovering in that awkward early teenage zone.

It made Obi-Wan distinctly uncomfortable. He remembered his early teenage years, desperately hoping someone, anyone, would pick him to be a Padawan. He remembered throwing himself into lightsaber training, astronav, tactics, politics, anything and everything he could think of to make himself a more desirable initiate. He remembered the crechemasters taking away the blasters, not trusting such a dangerous weapon in the hands of a child.

And yet, here he was, surrounded by children his age or younger toying with far more powerful blasters than he had ever touched.

His heart ached.

After tersely exchanging names, Cerasi had introduced their faction. The Young were all orphans, children left to pick up the pieces after the Elders - the Melida and the Daan - tore homes and families to shreds. Cerasi and Nield had started gathering the lost children of Zehava to form a rebel group dedicated to bringing Melida/Daan to peace.

They did what they could to survive and stop the civil war, but Obi-Wan could tell it was an uphill battle. Food supplies perpetually ran low, and stolen weapons were poor substitutes for even the thinnest gruel. The blasters couldn't be sold or they would end up right back in the hands of the Elders. Guerilla strikes whenever fighting broke out did typically end the violence faster than it would otherwise, but Obi-Wan suspected that was more due to one side overwhelming the other in the confusion than any lasting impact by the Young.

They were children forced to grow up far too quickly, who sought peace the only way they knew how.

"So?" Cerasi demanded, hands on her hips. "You gonna help or what, _Jedi?_ "

Did he actually have a choice? Could he, Obi-Wan Kenobi, Commander in the Grand Army of the Republic, really just leave a bunch of younglings to die playing soldier?

"I will do what I can," he stated at last, mind racing. "I'll speak with my master. We're here to negotiate peace between the Melida and the Daan. I'm sure we can help end this conflict."

Nield scoffed, clearly displeased with his answer. "We've heard that one before. 'I'll do what I can,' ha! You'll do what they all do in the end."

"And what's that?"

"Leave. Say some pretty words, pretend everything is magically better, and leave," Nield sneered. He paced to one side, gesturing vaguely upwards. "It's happened before. Some senator appeared and we had peace. Then a few weeks later, a speederbus full of kids blew up and we were right back at it."

"You don't mean that," Obi-Wan replied quietly, even as his heart sank. Nield meant every word. He could feel it.

"Whatever. You want to leave, leave. You're an offworlder. You don't know bantha shit about us," the man said before storming away. Cerasi watched him go, a strange expression on her face.

"He doesn't mean that," she repeated. "His sister was on that speederbus. It's hard for him to see a world at peace." She studied Obi-Wan for a moment. "Let's get you back to your master. Maybe you will be exactly what we need."

Obi-Wan shrugged, but followed the girl and a small honor guard back to the surface. He had a great many things to discuss with Qui-Gon.

-0-

Qui-Gon was less than amused when his Padawan reappeared, littered with cuts and scrapes, clothes rumpled, and reeking of sewage. Obi-Wan did his best not to flinch as the Jedi Master lectured him, demanding why Obi-Wan had not sent a comm message or extracted himself from the Young hours ago.

It was his duty as a Jedi to follow the will of the Force first and the will of his master second, he knew this. If the Force was not prompting him to stay (and Obi-Wan could not say whether the Force had wanted him to meet the Young or not, to his shame. The Force had been quiet enough on the whole matter that Obi-Wan hadn't thought to check), then it was his duty to return to Qui-Gon's side.

He was assigned extra meditation as punishment, but Obi-Wan could tell Qui-Gon had been worried. The five missed comm messages that pinged in rapid succession once he emerged from the sewers had been evidence enough.

They settled down for meditation followed by rest. Obi-Wan did his absolute best to fall asleep quickly, knowing his early-rising master would not let him escape extra meditation if he stayed up late. But his mind was racing with thoughts of the Young, and he ended up lying awake for hours.

He dragged himself out of bed on time for early morning meditation, using the Force to push aside his tiredness. Qui-Gon was somehow still asleep, but Obi-Wan was not brave enough to skip meditation. His master would know if he did such a thing.

Sleeping had done little to settle his thoughts. The Melida, the Daan, and the Young; two warring factions and the broken children left behind. He wanted to believe Qui-Gon would find a way to settle this feud, but…

He had seen the way Wehutti and Wemont bickered. They had bickered for ten minutes over what kind of tea to drink before Qui-Gon decided on caf for everyone. Would it take a third party forcing decisions on the Melida and the Daan to get anything done on this planet? Could the Jedi, as representatives of the Republic, demand peace?

And what of what Nield had said? Would whatever peace treaty Qui-Gon forced on these people be ignored as soon as the Jedi left? The Republic could hardly spare Jedi to indefinitely babysit intraplanetary treaties.

No, whatever peace Melida/Daan would achieve must come from Melida/Daan itself.

Obi-Wan sighed, releasing the troublesome thoughts and sinking into the Force. Qui-Gon had woken at some point and now meditated peacefully beside him, warm and steady like a sun-baked boulder. Obi-Wan settled next to the familiar presence.

They emerged from meditation as the sun began to rise over the horizon. Peace lingered between the two Jedi, soothing frayed nerves and gentling what Obi-Wan knew would be a difficult conversation.

Obi-Wan dismissed his apprehension as Qui-Gon locked eyes with him. "Padawan," Qui-Gon started, trailed off, and paused.

"Master," Obi-Wan answered as evenly as possible.

Qui-Gon sighed, rocking back to study his Padawan down the length of his nose. "I sense we have much to discuss." He paused, "Let's start with where you were last night after I sent you to find food."

Obi-Wan obediently launched into a report of the previous day. Qui-Gon listened impassively, face perfectly blank as his Padawan described the Young and their plight. As he concluded yesterday's adventure, the Jedi Master heaved another sigh.

"I know you wish to help these people," Qui-Gon began slowly. "But it is not our place."

"Master-!"

Qui-Gon cut him off with a stern look. "No, Padawan. Our duty is to the Republic as a whole, first and foremost, not to the individual planets within. Our mandate is clear: we are to negotiate a treaty between the Melida and the Daan, not get involved in their war."

"But Master! You saw Wehutti and Wemont. They will never come to an agreement. Our best way to bring peace to this planet is by stopping both sides from fighting, and this is what the Young aims to do!"

"You don't believe we can barter a treaty?" Qui-Gon asked, voice carefully neutral in a way that meant the Jedi Master had taken offense.

Obi-Wan winced. "It's not that, Master. I just don't believe a treaty will last."

"If the Melida and the Daan do not uphold their treaty, they will be censured by the Republic."

"A Republic that hasn't done anything for this planet in over a century!" Obi-Wan hotly protested. He flushed, ducking his head as Qui-Gon's eyebrow rose. "I apologize, Master. That was uncalled for. I feel peace will not come easy to this world."

"No, I fear it will not," Qui-Gon agreed. "Come. We have another long day of negotiations."

-0-

Obi-Wan groaned as he massaged his temples. Both he and his master had been right that morning: Wehutti and Wemont refused to come to an agreement, and the negotiations were exceptionally long. Qui-Gon had tried to move the discussion away from past grievances and towards the numerous benefits of peace, but neither representative was ready to let things go.

It was times like this that Obi-Wan feared he would never become as good a negotiator as Qui-Gon. His master had endless patience and was more stubborn than a gundark, while Obi-Wan was hiding behind a pillar in the lobby, struggling to maintain his serenity after a single hour.

Force, this mission was turning into a disaster. How were they supposed to broker peace when absolutely no one wanted it?

Well, almost no one. Cerasi and Nield and the Young certainly wanted peace.

Their mission was to end the fighting between the Melida and the Daan. Negotiations were not working. As representatives of both the Jedi Order and the Republic, they could absolutely not pick one side to fight with and win a war the traditional way.

But the Young presented a third option…

Obi-Wan reached for his commlink, typing a quick message to his master. He knew what he needed to do.

He would bring peace to Melida/Daan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am overwhelmed by the response to this story. You're all the best and I love you. ♥
> 
> Short chapter with not much going on, but I needed a bridge between our Jedi and the Mandalorians. The next chapter should be up soon - it's written, I just need to edit it.
> 
> Also, is it just me, or is the chapter text box really terrible on this site? Every time I copy in text, I have to spend the next eternity reviewing it to make sure the formatting imported correctly. All I want is my paragraph breaks to not look dumb here or in my text editor. Is that too much to ask?


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains language and mild descriptions of gore/violence.
> 
> Also, assume anything in the Jango section is in Mando'a, so there's limited use of gendered pronouns. Any time a character uses "sir" they're actually saying "'alor"

His master was displeased with him.

Well, displeased was probably an understatement. They normally enjoyed an open training bond, letting their emotions brush against each other in a constant reminder that the other was alive and well, but Qui-Gon had abruptly sealed his end of the bond two days ago.

Obi-Wan did his best to bury his hurt. Work helped.

It was not hard to find distraction from his strained relationship with his master among the Young. They were an army after all, and that required a staggering amount of logistical support. Patrols had to venture out of the sewers for food and medicine, everyone over the age of eight had to practice with blasters or a patrol may leave the sewers and never return, the youngest Young had to be cared for, fuel had to be acquired, generators needed to be maintained, and the Melida and the Daan had to be tracked at a minimum.

And those were the daily tasks. The Young also had a civil war to end.

His experience on the Sith Front was proving invaluable to Nield and Cerasi. These were a people who had grown up fighting, knew how to hold and check blasters, how to patch fresh blaster wounds, and where to hide to avoid getting shot in the first place, but they had never been formally educated on battle strategy or tactics or the thousands of little things Obi-Wan had picked up from the battalions he and Qui-Gon were temporarily assigned.

The first war meeting he had attended had been met with skepticism, but the Young believed in a flat command structure and he had already sworn to aid the Young in their mission, so no one had any grounds to complain. He had listened to their plan to sabotage a weapons convoy and had a number of tricks to suggest, shifting units around and offering to build an improvised ion burst device out of their weapons supply to minimize Young casualties.

By the end of their meeting, Nield and his posse were reluctantly impressed and - Obi-Wan suspected for the first time in years - hopeful.

When the ambush went off without a hitch and the Young had recovered an E-Web heavy repeating blaster - a _blasting E-Web!_ Those things were hard to come by, even in the GAR - Cerasi had been over the moon. She had returned to the sewers with an enormous grin splitting her face, laughing and hugging Nield then Obi-Wan in unrestrained joy. Obi-Wan did his best to push aside the un-Jedi-like swooping sensation his stomach experienced as her skinny arms wrapped around him.

Late that night, Nield quietly confessed that was the happiest he had ever seen Cerasi. Obi-Wan let himself bask in the warm glow that elicited, pointedly ignoring the silent training bond and the hurt he felt from that quarter.

Obi-Wan threw himself into the Young after that.

There were better shots among the Young so Nield did not have him train the younglings how to shoot, but Obi-Wan refused to slack in any other way. He primarily helped the younglings learn first aid, even though he felt sick at the thought of children needing to use this knowledge. His heart ached at the image of kids - who should be concerned with mundane things like classes and favorite foods - kneeling in the dirt with blood pouring between fingers as they slathered watered-down bacta on open wounds. And when he could no longer stand the gruesome images, he stood beside Nield and Cerasi and planned the end of the war.

To his chagrin, their overall strategy was not dissimilar from Qui-Gon's plan.

Wehutti and Wemont had to come to an agreement. Where Qui-Gon believed long discussions could reach understanding, the Young believed the only way to make either side stop posturing and actually talk was to cut their support out from beneath them.

The Young targeted weapons shipments and depots to try and cripple both sides. It was difficult to fight a war without a blaster, after all.

They had to stop the import of weapons. Obi-Wan had seen the space port as the Jedi were led into Zehava, and almost every ship besides their own had been a cargo ship of one kind or another. It did not take a genius to guess what cargo a planet like Melida/Daan would import.

The space port would be difficult to close. The Elders constantly fought for the one port, neither willing to let such a valuable resource fall into the other's hands. In retrospect, it was a miracle Qui-Gon and he had managed to land in the first place, let alone be met by the Melida and the Daan at the same time.

With the port constantly changing hands, it was hard to establish patrols, routine, or even which side would hold the port when the Young came to strike. They did not have enough people to take over the port outright, let alone _hold_ it. What would the Elders do if the Young did somehow control the port? Would they team up to overthrow a bunch of kids? Would the other side - either Melida or Daan, whoever had not previously held the port - simply overwhelm the Young while they tended to their wounded and scrambled to consolidate control?

No, they simply could not take the port the way a GAR battalion would. Which meant they would have to close the port some other way.

A violent way.

Obi-Wan pushed down the complicated knot of emotions that stirred inside. He was a Commander in the Grand Army of the Republic, even if Qui-Gon and he jumped between corps like a pair of demented hawk-bats. He was familiar with violence and its necessity. He could do this, for peace.

He doubled over the cracked datapad, studying the star port map once more.

-0-

Jango Fett was antsy, but refused to show it.

With few exceptions, he was surrounded by rookie commandos. These commandos may have distinguished themselves during their domestic assignments, but they were all young and fresh faced, never having had a chance to whet their blades or their blasters with blood.

They would not get a chance to on this mission, either.

They were on a scouting mission, a simple milk run assignment before a far more glorious battle. A disappointing, but very necessary, evil, in the minds of many a rookie. The parameters were simple: locate the populated planets just within the Republic's borders, probe their defenses non-violently, and return to the fleet.

It should be simple, but Jango could not shake a lingering sense of unease as the small freighter slid out of hyperspace and into orbit around Melida/Daan. They hung in space for a while, a secret, silent menace to the oblivious planet below, as Catra ran a sensor sweep.

"Ven'alor," the pilot spoke, voice sounding crystal clear through the state-of-the-art comm system in Jango's helmet. "Orbital scan complete. Minor population centers located throughout the planet, one major center and one star port located in southern hemisphere. No apparent shields or anti-aircraft weaponry. How shall we proceed?"

Jango contemplated the information for a moment. Ten Mandalorian commandos on a covert scouting mission? Even without armor and its wide collection of tricks, a full unit should be enough to secure passage off world if everything went straight to Hell. "Proceed to the star port. Transmit shipping codes. Commandos, buckets and armor off, we're traders here," he ordered with a flash of teeth while his commandos cheered around him.

Suki caught his eye as everyone obediently stripped their armor from their bodysuits. They smiled - a wide, bloodthirsty thing - and nodded in approval as they hid vibroknives in their fur. Jango returned the grin as he reattached his primary blaster holsters to either thigh and double checked his own collection of hidden vibroblades.

They could do this. Milk run.

They milled about the main cabin, looking deceptively casual as Catra brought their ship into atmo. Jango knew every single one of them were ready for violence in a heartbeat, each itching for their boots to hit dirt and their mission to commence.

The ship suddenly jolted, and Jango fought to keep his balance as Rugal stumbled into him. "What was that?" someone, probably their mechanic Jagota, shouted towards the cockpit.

"We've been hit!" the co-pilot shouted in reply. "Ion blast of some kind. Shields are holding steady, all systems remain functional."

"They didn't have any weapons systems," Jango demanded, question and statement all rolled into one.

"Yes, sir. This wasn't a weapon discharge I recognize. Wide range, undirected blast. Likely a byproduct of something else," Kotyc answered stiltedly, clearly unhappy they didn't know exactly what caused the blast.

Jango nodded curtly. "Point of origin?" he ordered.

"A few klicks from the port, sir. I can see blaster fire breaking out in that area. Street fight, from the looks of things."

A street fight with ion blasts? The locals were packing some serious heat. Maybe this planet would put up a worthy fight when the rest of the Mandalorians arrived.

"We proceed," Jango stated. They were Mandalorian. They would not run because of an indirect attack.

He locked eyes with each commando in turn, reading their expressions. Every single one had some combination of readiness, eagerness, and determination writ across their features. Jango let himself breath deep, sinking into his own state of battle-readiness--

An alarm howled.

The lights cut out as a chunk of duracrete burst through the bulkhead behind Meshrok, Meshrok themselves vanishing in a cloud of gore and dust. Jango grasped for crash webbing, barely holding on as the sudden pressure differential sucked another commando out of the ship. He felt someone - Suki, judging by the fur - press against him.

The ship groaned, plummeting out of the sky as loose armor, weapons, and bits of broken hull bled out the gaping hole in the side.

"Catra! Kotyc! Report!" Jango roared, struggling to hold on as the ship shuddered violently.

A horrible bang followed by a piercing screech rang through the cabin, setting Jango's teeth on edge and making his ears want to bleed. He clenched his fists around the crash webbing even tighter, fighting the urge to release the webbing and protect his hearing. He could only watch in horror as another chunk of hull tore off, carrying more commandos away with it.

"Report!" Jango screamed, twisting to look past Suki towards the cockpit.

Twisted steel bars, duracrete clinging in chunks to the rusted metal, pierced the cockpit in multiple places. He could just make out their pilots' bloody armor, crumpled and dented by the massive shrapnel.

He turned to survey the rest of his unit. Catra and Kotyc were dead. Meshrok and Skiisa gone in the initial blast. Jagota was clinging to crash webbing, staring out the gaping hole and screaming Nadala's name in horror. Rugal was wrapped in more crash webbing, clutching their side with increasingly pale fingers. Nuhur was nowhere to be seen, likely torn from the cabin in seconds.

His whole unit, gone in seconds.

They would _all_ be gone in seconds if they didn't do anything.

He scrabbled for something, anything that could protect what few survivors there were. "Find a helmet! Jagota! Helmet, now!" he ordered, stumbling towards the nearest storage bay. Mandalorians considered their armor sacred, but they were a practical people. Sometimes, armor got dented or damaged and you simply didn't have time to repair it before the next fight. They had spares on this ship, he just had to find them before they landed. Violently.

His hands fumbled with the latch, the twisted hull jamming the locking mechanism at the worst time. Suki pushed him aside, muscles straining as they ripped the cover open.

Jango shouted for attention as he threw helmets towards his surviving commandos. They both fortunately caught them, slamming the unpainted gray buckets over their faces as the ship shuddered once more. Someone, likely Suki, slammed a helmet over Jango's head and dragged him back towards the crash benches.

They barely managed to wrap crash webbing around themselves before their frantic ride came to a very abrupt halt.

So much for a fucking milk run.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully this scene was tense enough. I'm trying. ~~And if anyone has suggestions for a better translation for "Ven'alor," I'll happily edit this chapter. "Prince" or "Jr Mand'alor" don't seem quite right, but I can't think of anything else.~~ Edit: at a commentor's suggestion, I'm using Ven'alor even when everyone is speaking Mando'a. It's a proper title, so it makes sense.
> 
> The surviving OCs were chosen mostly at random. It seemed appropriate for a freak accident to only let plot armor and some randos survive.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhat graphic descriptions of people dying.

Jango groaned as he regained consciousness. His vision swam, his head hurt - fuck that, his _everything_ hurt - and his helmet was definitely cracked (in more ways than one), but he was somehow, miraculously alive.

He could not say the same for the rest of his unit.

Suki was lying next to him, their own helmet dented and the visor spiderwebbed with hairline fractures. He pressed fingers into their throat and wrist, searching for a pulse. He breathed a sigh of relief when he found one, thin and thready but definitely there.

He tore the crash webbing from his and Suki's torsos before gently removing their helmet. Suki flinched and groaned at the change in light, weakly batting at his hands as he checked their pupils.

"You'll survive," he declared, dragging himself to his feet to check on the rest of his unit.

Suki only groaned louder, but Jango could make out the sounds of them slowly fighting to their feet well.

Jagota would also live, Jango determined, but they would not be walking for a while. Rugal… was not so lucky. The same twisted decking that had shattered Jagota's legs had nicked an artery in Rugal's leg. They had bled out while their fellow commandos slowly regained consciousness around them.

He scowled, pushing the rage deep down. Ten commandos, down to three. A full unit, almost completely decimated.

He would avenge his fallen soliders. Whoever was responsible would _pay_.

Suki came up beside him, helping extract Jagota from the crash webbing and their own helmet. The two Mandalorians worked well together, Suki gathering materials for splints and bandages while Jango tended to Jagota. Jagota woke with a scream to wake the dead when Jango did his best to set their bones straight.

Once their wounds were all tended, Jango, as the least injured of all three of them, went to scout the area. Suki had scowled when he ordered them to stay with Jagota, but had ultimately acquiesced when they realized Jagota was in no state to defend themselves. Big knocks to the head and blinding pain had a way of ruining even the best commando's aim.

They had crashed in what was once the space port. The control tower was gone; mangled steel reinforcements stretched towards the sky like grasping fingers, duracrete clinging to the rusty frame like rotted flesh. The tower's destruction had likely been what had destroyed their freighter. Deflector shields were meant to repel energy weapons, not solid shrapnel.

They were lucky the tower hadn't hit their fuel cells.

No ships had survived whatever - or whoever - had destroyed the tower. The port's fuel storage tanks had combusted and promptly exploded, sending wicked chunks of tank slicing through hulls - and some people - across the yard. Flame had followed the fuel lines into any ship unfortunate enough to be hooked in to the refueling station at the time, blasting out whole engine compartments and igniting interiors. Some ships still had flames dancing inside their cockpits, belching ugly black smoke into the air.

A few pieces of corpses were scattered throughout the yard. Jango nudged one with his boot, absently noting the vast majority were human. If there were any other survivors, they had already vanished.

So who had destroyed the space port? Had they known a Mandalorian scouting party was incoming at the time? …Did they know that _his_ scouting party was incoming at the time?

Jango dismissed that thought immediately. They had been transmitting merchant codes, their ship had been a common freighter, favored by small-time merchants across the galaxy. There was no reason to suspect Mandalorians had entered Melida/Daan, and to believe their ship had been targeted was arrogance.

They would still be cautious.

He returned to Suki and Jagota, helping the Selonian drag the human across the yard and into the only ship still safe to enter. The ancient former space yacht had been gutted of all luxury long ago, leaving steel furniture frames in all the key places and yawning spaces where an impressive volume of crates could be stowed. A single cabin remained liveable, decorated with a truly gaudy collection of knickknacks and shag.

Jagota protested loudly as Suki dropped them on the bright purple double wide bunk with a wicked grin. Jango rolled his eyes at their antics and went to explore the rest of the ship.

The thrusters would need to be replaced before this ship could fly again, as a piece of shrapnel had sliced clean through both exhaust bells. Jagota would likely be able to rig something together from the other busted ships, but that would not happen any time soon with two broken legs. They had a week's worth of food and water rations stashed away in the galley alongside an expired medpac. The bacta was more than three years out of date, but they could still use it. There was a mishmash of old commlinks hidden in a cabinet that Jango promptly dumped on Jagota's lap with a terse, "Get these working."

There were no weapons to be found anywhere on board. The security system had been manufacturer-standard, which meant it was horribly outdated and easy to crack. If anyone tried to enter the ship, it would be up to the Mandalorians inside to defend themselves.

Jango was not too concerned about that.

"I'm going to find those cowards who attacked us," Jango stated, meeting Suki and Jagota's eyes directly. Both Mandalorians stiffened into attention as he issued orders. "Suki, defend Jagota and get a message back to Mandalore. Unless Jagota can get this ship flying again, we'll be stuck here until they can rescue us. Jagota, repair those commlinks first. We need to establish internal communications immediately."

"Future Leader, is it wise to split our forces?" Suki asked slowly, frown playing at their mouth.

"They killed my unit. They killed Mandalorians," Jango pointed out with a growl, voice curling with dark promise. "They will pay for that."

Jagota shouted in approval. Suki simply bowed in acknowledgement and farewell as Jango turned and left.

-0-

The trail was not easy to find, especially without a good Mandalorian HUD, but Jango was nothing if not determined. The control tower may have been destroyed, but even the most back asswards port in the galaxy had security cameras hidden away somewhere.

He searched through the ruined remains of the tower, seeking a basement or security booth. While he found nothing of the sort, he was able to find a tattered evacuation map, and Jango could guess where to go from there.

The security closet, as it should really be called, was hidden in a fortified shack opposite the fuel depot. The exploding tower had not damaged the shack, but the whole building was pockmarked with old carbon scoring and the blast door leading into the closet was dented from a battering ram.

Jango noted the blaster marks with some curiosity. There had been no such marks anywhere in the control tower, and certainly no evidence of a battering ram elsewhere in the port.

He drew a blaster and palmed the blast door release.

The door opened, jamming partially closed where the dents collided with the wall. A quick scan confirmed: the room was empty. And it had been empty for a while, judging by the cold mug of caf next to the terminal. Jango holstered his blaster as he activated the terminal.

He couldn't help the derisive snort as the terminal woke up. Whoever had vacated the room hadn't even bothered to lock access. How unprofessional.

No matter. One outsider's foolishness was a Mandalorian's gain.

The footage he sought was not hard to find since everything was neatly labeled by time, date, and camera location code. He picked a random external camera and selected approximately the right time. This camera was pointing mostly upwards, only a sliver of the tower rotunda visible in a corner of the screen.

He growled as he watched his ship swoop through the top left corner of the screen and behind the control tower to glide back a little closer on the right side a few moments later. He knew what was coming, but couldn't bring himself to look away as the camera flickered, died, and came back to a ship that suddenly dipped, landing lights flickering briefly.

That would be the mystery ion pulse Karyc hadn't been able to identify. Which meant…

A few seconds later the tower exploded.

Enormous chunks of ejecta were launched in every direction. The camera shuddered as the building it was mounted to shook violently, the view growing dimmer as dust blocked the lens. It didn't stop Jango from seeing several large pieces pierce the Mandalorian freighter, right in the cockpit and just to the side of the cabin ramp.

He forced himself to watch as loose detritus, more chunks of hull, and three bodies - Skiisa, Nadala, and Nuhur - streamed behind the crippled ship like tiny macabre care packages. They wouldn't survive the landing. Not without jetpacks and armor, and Jango himself had ordered everyone out of both of those items.

He slammed a fist on the desk as the ship plummeted out of view, bits of hull trailing behind.

He switched cameras, and picked another file.

This one showed the shipyard, freighters all lined up neatly with fuel lines crisscrossing haphazardly over the packed dirt. An ugnaught with a hoversled puttered about in one corner of the screen. A pilot emerged from one of the far freighters, hands cupped near their face for several long moments. They leaned back with a clear sigh of relief, death stick alight and firmly placed between their lips.

Jango was almost ready to close that file and open a new one when he spotted motion at the edge of the screen.

A series of figures darted in and out of view, features obscured by… something the footage wasn't clear enough to discern. The leading figure made a series of hand gestures, and two figures broke off from the group to dart across the yard. They made beelines for the ugnaught and the pilot, and Jango watched as the ugnaught abandoned their hoversled to flee the camera feed. The pilot scoffed and shooed away their figure, something the figure obediently did after a short hesitation.

The suspicious figures vanished off the screen, and Jango glanced at the time stamp. Approximately thirteen minutes before the ion pulse that marked the beginning of things going to shit. He skipped ahead.

The pilot had another death stick in their mouth, a pile of used death sticks littering their feet. A few other humans milled about the yard, some glaring at the smoking pilot, some checking crates lining the walls, all with blaster rifles slung across their bodies. Jango watched the clock, unsurprised as the footage flickered, died, and came back a few moments later, timestamp reset. He waited a few more moments for the tower to blow up.

Crates and corpses went flying across the screen, originating from the corner the line of figures had come from. Chunks of duracrete shot across the yard, a small piece clocking the pilot right in the head. Their death stick went flying, and the Mandalorian could only watch in horrified fascination as the small flame landed on a fuel line.

A fuel line that had been nicked by a sharp edge on one of the crates.

The gas ignited immediately, racing up and down the line to ignite the fuel bay on the freighter and the fuel depot on the opposite side. Heat spread from the depot down the other lines, igniting the gas inside those and setting almost every other ship aflame. Pressure built far beyond what the depot tanks could handle and then they too exploded, sending mangled durasteel slicing through hulls left, right, and center, flames spewing into the sky.

The former space yacht the Mandalorians had commandeered had only survived the conflagration because it was shielded by the far wall and a dingy little ship whose fuel compartment happened to be on the other side. The battered ship was crushed as a whole hull panel slammed into it.

Jango was reluctantly impressed. That had been quite the explosion. Explosions, he corrected, as another freighter blew up.

And then he saw the mangled remains of his freighter plummeting towards the ground and had to close the feed.

He found another file, this one from inside the control tower, and jumped to shortly before he saw the trail of figures escaping across the yard.

This camera had slightly higher feed quality than the one from the yard, so Jango was able to make out a little more detail as the figures slipped out of a stairwell. What was likely fabric was wrapped around their heads and trailed down their chests, obscuring both faces and biological gender markers. He couldn't make out any obvious species markers either, but that didn't deter him. He had found his bombers, his killers. Those filthy _cowards_.

He jumped between feeds, tracing the half-unit of figures as they entered the port with several bags on their backs. They split up as they entered the tower, leaving their bags behind, before reconvening in the tower lobby to slip into the yard. Two figures broke off to warn the ugnaught and the pilot away, and all five masked figures left the port shortly thereafter.

It wasn't much to go on, but Jango would use it. The external port cameras showed the figures running towards a narrow alley, so that would be where he went next.

They shouldn't have run. It made their tracks easier to follow.

The hunt was on.

-0-

The tracks were still undisturbed by the time Jango made his way to the alley. He hadn't been certain that would remain true after he stopped by the space yacht to check on his people and retrieve a repaired commlink, but he was not complaining at the sudden good fortune.

It was about damn time he had some good luck on this gods damned mission.

Fucking cowards and their fucking bombs.

The tracks were surprisingly light for a group of people running through dirt, but that was not enough to slow Jango down as he followed them through the twisting alleyway. At some point, someone splashed through a puddle, leaving a trail of mud in their wake like a bright neon sign.

The trail ended at a sewer grate tucked behind a dumpster. When he gave it an experimental tug, the grate easily came free, the rusted fasteners already sheared at the head. A damp boot print deep inside clearly marked where the figures had fled.

Jango didn't hesitate. There was Mandalorian blood on their hands, and they would pay for it.

A hundred yards in, Jango found himself wishing he had his helmet. The filters alone would make it worthwhile. Combine the HUD, sensor suite, and the flashlight, and Jango really missed his armor.

He refused to think about why the familiar weight wasn't resting on his shoulders this very moment.

He estimated he had walked a half klick before the sewer stench stopped bothering him. It was still disgusting; mold and some mysterious murky liquid coated every surface, and Jango suspected it would be easier to burn his bodysuit than clean it when he finally finished avenging his fallen commandos. But, at least he could (mostly) breathe.

A faint echoing whine sounded somewhere ahead. Jango froze, ears straining to hear more sound. More whines, followed by a few high pitched _pings!_ He recognized those whines.

Blasters.

He had found his quarry, he realized with a toothy grin.

He drew his own blasters and silently crept forwards.

The sounds of blasters firing picked up in frequency. Voices could also be heard between shots, though Jango couldn't quite make out individual words. A helmet would have helped amplify voices.

He scowled and continued moving.

A series of shots and pings rang out, and this time Jango could clearly make out someone shouting in Basic, "I did it! Did you see that? I did it!"

…The hell?

That sounded like… but it couldn't be.

He had to get closer.

The sewer tunnel split in three directions. Sewer water was splashed about in all three directions, indicating careless and frequent use. He paused, waiting for a blaster to fire, and followed the sound down the right branch.

The narrow tunnel widened into a full room just ahead, and Jango crouched out of sight where the tunnel and room met. Voices were clearly audible now, a male offering encouragement and gentle correction while a much higher pitched… male? asked questions.

Jango risked a peek around the corner.

He cursed under his breath and slipped back the way he came. Quick checks of the other tunnels confirmed more of the same.

What. The actual fuck. Were a bunch of _actual fucking kids_ doing with a bunch of fucking _heavy munitions?_

And _why_ the fuck did they have to be wearing the same fucking head coverings he had seen on the security footage?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a real struggle lately. I've got the next chapter mostly written, so I'm hoping to find the time and motivation to edit that more thoroughly this week. Thank you all for sticking with this story through this historic year. I really hope you all stay safe and healthy ❤︎


	5. Chapter 5

Jango was pissed, and it was only his strict professionalism that kept him from getting completely pissed in a different way. He glared at the dirty tumbler of grog clutched in one fist, and only barely stopped himself from downing the whole thing in one long swig.

Fucking _adiike_ and only-barely-older-than-adiike were blowing up ports and shit on this planet.

He didn't know what to do with that knowledge.

Well, no, he did know what to do with that knowledge, and it started and ended with getting reinforcements. But _gods_ did it hurt to have to wait when he so desperately wanted to stop whatever stupid reason those kids had for fighting in the first place.

And sure, training children how to use blasters and punch a person? That made complete sense. Wrapping those same children's faces so they couldn't be recognized and sending them out to fight with fucking rifles as large as they were? Not acceptable.

He growled as he tightened his grip on the booze. He needed more information. Why were the kids fighting? Why blow up a space port? Where were the fucking adults on this planet and why the fuck were they not protecting their children like they were supposed to? (He did know the answer to the last question - this was Republic space, and they did not know how to care for children as they _should._ It was one reason of many that Mandalorian Expansion would be good for the galaxy.)

An uptick in noise surrounding him drew his attention away from his increasingly angry thoughts. A cluster of humans in a mishmash of paramilitary gear stumbled in, shouting for a pitcher and some shots. Jango scoffed as they started shouting praises for fallen comrades, and would have tuned them out entirely if they hadn't mentioned the port.

"Those fuckin' Daan won' know what hit 'em! They'll pay for fuckin'-- fuckin' usin' our own E-Web 'gainst us!" one particularly drunk human shouted, to a chorus of cheers. "Those fuckers're clever, but we're clever-er than them! They'll pay for blowin' up our port!"

"Yeah!"

"Burn those motherfuckers!"

"Only good Daan's a dead Daan!"

"Only good Daan's a dead Daan!" repeated another member of the posse, which quickly grew into a chant the whole bar seemed to take up. Jango sat as unobtrusively as possible, knowing he could hardly leave without drawing attention to himself, but struggling to keep his rage at bay. Would it really be a bad thing to shoot up the whole bar? He could take them all easily - shooting drunks was like fishing with a detonator.

"Only good Daan's a dead Daan!"

No, this was a scouting mission. He shouldn't kill a bunch of child-killers, even if they deserved it. He _shouldn't_.

"Only good Daan's a dead Daan!"

His hand drifted towards his blaster.

"Only good Daan's a dead Daan!"

By the time he was done, there wasn't a living soul left in that bar. And if he had unloaded a few extra bolts into the humans who had started chanting, well, no one was around to report his wasted ammo. _Fucking demagolkase._

He growled as he left the massacre, rage only barely sated. It was dark - too dark to find where the Daan had apparently been using the E-Web he had spotted in the sewers and too late in the night (or too early in the morning, he wasn't entirely sure) to warn them. If the adults on this planet wanted to get drunk and shoot children, it was unlikely they would do so while licking their wounds.

He reluctantly made his way back to the ruined space port for a few hours of shut eye. Suki took one look at his stride and promptly gave him space, forcibly shutting Jagota up before the grouchy rookie could demand anything. Jango appreciated the Selonian's gesture as he found a spot in the cockpit to rest. The last thing he wanted right now was to snap at the tattered remains of his unit because of some dead fuckers and this kriffed up planet.

-0-

Obi-Wan stared at his commlink forlornly. Twenty missed messages.

Qui-Gon was not happy with him - had not really been happy with him since he abandoned negotiations with barely a word of warning. The now-open training bond all but screamed disappointment into his mind, and Obi-Wan was coward enough to shy away from the link. He wasn't quite brave enough to shutter the bond entirely, but he did relegate it to the smallest, darkest corner of his psyche and tried to ignore how much he missed the older Jedi's warmth.

His trip up to the surface to close the space port had been hugely successful. Despite fighting on two fronts - a decoy street fight to lure out as many Melida or Daan were in the port as possible and the actual infiltration - the Young had suffered only non-life-threatening injuries. The control tower was destroyed and the port effectively closed.

The only way to get new weapons into Melida/Daan would be by landing in the fields outside Zehava, and the logistics required to unload a freighter out in those forests were not to be underestimated. Without the control tower to regulate traffic, it would be incredibly dangerous for most spacers to land, and the approach into the city was begging for an ambush. No spacer would consider the paltry credits the Elders could pay worth their life or their ship.

Overall, Obi-Wan was rather pleased with the results, though he could have done without the not-so-minor injuries Ciara and Puck had suffered or the influx of missed messages that had pinged his commlink the minute he emerged from the sewers. The guilt for Ciara and Puck was easy to shelve; as much bacta as they could afford, as much Force healing as he was capable of, and a thousand apologies went a long ways towards helping them all sleep (a little) better at night.

The messages from Qui-Gon, not so much. Should he check them? …Could he check them? What kind of coward would he be if he didn't?

He opened the oldest message first.

"Padawan," Qui-Gon's voice sounded terse, but something inside Obi-Wan eased at the familiar sound. "While I appreciate you warning me before vanishing, this behavior can not be allowed to continue. Meet me at the capitol building at 1530 hours. Qui-Gon, out."

He skipped a few and picked another message. "Padawan, where are you? You missed our meeting. I feel I am making headway with the Melida and the Daan. Get back here immediately. Talk to you soon."

"Obi-Wan, this behavior is unbecoming of the Jedi Order. I expect a reply immediately," Qui-Gon demanded in another recording. A pause, then a sigh. "If you are listening to the Force… if the Force is telling you that you must be with the Young, then we can discuss this. Find me."

Obi-Wan swallowed a lump as he stared at the list of messages. That had been sent two days ago, while he and Cerasi and Nield had hunched over the port maps and planned their latest attack. Had he been listening to the Force, maybe even subconsciously? He couldn't tell. It didn't feel like he had done the _wrong_ thing, though he knew more than a dozen people had died as the bombs went off.

It was not the first time he had ordered an action that killed people, but repetition did not make the gut-wrenching pain of feeling lives snuff out any easier.

He scrolled towards the most recent message. "Padawan Kenobi," his master greeted stiffly. "I have successfully concluded negotiations with the Melida and the Daan. We shall be leaving as soon as transport arrives, since it appears we lost our freighter," he stated wryly. "I can explain once we meet. Call me as soon as you receive this message."

Obi-Wan was stunned, hope rising in his chest. Qui-Gon had done it? The civil war was over, just like that? It felt unreal; how much suffering, how much struggle had he aided only for everything to suddenly… end?

His master truly was the most amazing Jedi in the whole Order! Cerasi and Nield and all the Young could finally live the sort of lives they deserved. He quickly dialed his master's frequency, thoughts racing.

"Obi-Wan?" Qui-Gon answered.

"Master! I got your message - the war is over?" Obi-Wan asked eagerly, feet already taking him away from the sewer entrance and towards the capitol plaza.

"It took some doing, but our mission is complete," Qui-Gon answered carefully.

Obi-Wan paused, suspicious. "What aren't you telling me?"

"There's a café two blocks from our hotel. I'm sending coordinates to you now. I'll see you there in thirty minutes," Qui-Gon evaded. Obi-Wan's commlink chimed as the coordinates registered. "May the Force be with you."

"And with you," Obi-Wan answered automatically, adjusting course towards the café, hope bubbling in his chest.

To call the meeting point a café was generous, in Obi-Wan's opinion. There was a single metal table and two uncomfortable metal chairs bolted to a concrete slab outside a blaster-pocked storefront. The narrow shop was hardly large enough for the glaring shopkeep, let alone the additional seating crammed against one stained wall. Obi-Wan had ordered drinks for himself and his master and quickly slipped back outside, trying to ignore the angry looks making his hair stand on end.

He sipped what could barely be called tea, hardly tasting the lukewarm leaf water while he stared at the street. What would the street look like scrubbed clean of war? The road could actually be repaired and all the dull gray buildings painted at the very least. The gaping potholes in the mismatched stone, cobblestone, and dirt could finally be filled. The carbon scoring could be scrubbed away and not return almost immediately.

Peace would be good for Melida/Daan, Obi-Wan decided, as he waited for his master to arrive. Peace would be good _everywhere_ , he acknowledged with a wry twist of his lips.

Obi-Wan rose to his feet and gave a deep bow when he spotted Qui-Gon. The older Jedi looked as peacefully ruffled as ever, robes wrinkled and dirt clinging to his boots. They made quite the pair, Obi-Wan with his sewage-stained (but still meticulously straightened) robes and Qui-Gon with his clean but rumpled appearance.

"Master," Obi-Wan greeted with a smile, waiting for Qui-Gon to take a seat before he followed suit. His master felt entirely opaque in the Force, and he didn't know quite how to proceed. He settled on polite formalities. "Congratulations on the successful negotiations."

"Thank you, Padawan," Qui-Gon politely replied. He gestured towards the second cup of tea in silent question, and Obi-Wan nodded, watching anxiously as Qui-Gon sipped at the weak brew. His face remained perfectly inscrutable, and Obi-Wan firmly told himself it didn't hurt that Qui-Gon felt the need to wear his negotiating face for this discussion.

"So…?"

"So, the Stalwart is expected to arrive in two days. As soon as the ship arrives in orbit, our mission here is over."

"How did you do it?" Obi-Wan asked eagerly. "I'm sorry I wasn't there to witness it." I'm sorry I left your side, he didn't say, but Qui-Gon's face softened as if he got the message anyways.

"As it turns out, my young Padawan, the secret to a good negotiation is understanding where people are willing to compromise."

"Oh yes, thank you Master, for your wisdom. That's totally helpful. I understand _perfectly_ ," Obi-Wan snarked, rolling his eyes.

Qui-Gon chuckled warmly. "Imp," he said fondly, stretching out in his seat. The man heaved a deep sigh, studying Obi-Wan's face for a moment. "The Melida and the Daan agreed to the Stalwart remaining in orbit around Melida/Daan," he carefully stated, each word meticulously weighed and measured.

Obi-Wan had a bad feeling about this.

"What about the Melida and the Daan?" he asked slowly. "What about the war?"

"Neither Wehutti nor Wemont were able to come to an agreement with respect to the ongoing hostilities."

Obi-Wan froze, shakily setting his cup back on the table. "Master? Are you telling me…?" Qui-Gon looked vaguely pained, but met his gaze squarely. Obi-Wan felt his stomach drop. "Are we really going to just leave? In the middle of a civil war?"

His master remained silent.

"We're going to abandon Melida/Daan? What about--?" he broke off, unable to express himself as disbelief threatened to overwhelm him. "What about the people? What about the kids and the families and everyone who's _dying_ on this planet?"

Qui-Gon heaved a weary sigh, leaning across the table to lay one large palm on Obi-Wan's clenched fist. "I know this is hard to understand, but this is not our place. We have a greater responsibility, a greater purpose than can be found on a single world. We are Jedi, and our responsibility is to the galaxy as a whole."

"I thought our responsibility was to the Force and the Order! And as members of the Jedi Order, we were supposed to value _life_ and _compassion!"_ Obi-Wan protested, ripping his hand out from Qui-Gon's grasp. "How are we valuing life if we leave a planet in the middle of a-- of a _kriffing_ war?"

"Language, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon chided automatically. "Your focus is too narrow. You're failing to see the larger picture."

"What larger picture? Tell me, since I clearly don't understand," Obi-Wan demanded.

Qui-Gon sighed again, before his face shifted into a mask of perfect serenity. "What happens when a planet is conquered, by either empire?"

"A lot of people die," Obi-Wan answered flatly, though he doubted his master actually wanted such a pithy reply. "Where are you going with this?"

The older Jedi ignored the question. "Should we, as Jedi, ever prioritize one life over another?" Obi-Wan gave his master a disbelieving look that Qui-Gon correctly interpreted as a very solid negative. "So if we have a choice between saving one planet or saving a whole sector, what should we do?"

Obi-Wan frowned, seeing where his master was going with this and not liking it one bit. "Why can't we have both? They aren't mutually exclusive options, Master."

"Aren't they? We've been here for over a week, and have made zero progress towards getting the Melida or the Daan to stop fighting. Every action we do has a cost, Padawan, and every hour we spend trying to get the Melida and the Daan to agree is an hour we cannot spend helping people who want to be helped."

"So you're giving up?!"

"No, I'm choosing to save a sector, and another planet, and another planet after that instead of wasting time on people who _don't want to be saved!_ " Qui-Gon roared, serene façade cracking for a moment. The Jedi Master paused and hastily recomposed himself while Obi-Wan sat opposite, stunned. What kind of infuriating madness had Qui-Gon been dealing with without him?

"The Mandalorians are coming," Qui-Gon stated ominously after he calmed. "Maybe not today or tomorrow, but they have been pushing towards this sector for the last three months. It's only a matter of time before they arrive, and when they arrive they will bring war right back with them."

"And it's not worth sparing these people for however long that takes?" Obi-Wan shook his head, cutting his own argument short. Emotional pleas would get him nowhere, he had to be strategic and detached, like a good Jedi Commander. "If the Mandalorians _are_ coming, shouldn't we prioritize ending the war on Melida/Daan? A single cruiser is hardly enough to hold a planet. We could put a legion on Melida/Daan! When the Mandalorians arrive, they'll never expect that many troops, especially not if they've heard about the civil war. Melida/Daan gets peace, we get to hold the sector, and the Mandalorians will be totally overwhelmed!"

"Were you listening to me, Padawan? A legion is an enormous number of men, men who could be better utilized defending any number of sectors," Qui-Gon deflated slightly. "The Army does not have a legion, or even a battalion, we could spare for however long it takes the Mandalorians to arrive."

"Is it all just numbers to you, Master?" Obi-Wan asked bitterly, fighting down the heat prickling the backs of his eyes. "Melida/Daan was going to fight and die no matter what, so we should just let them die."

Qui-Gon remained silent though his face clearly showed his conflict, and a horrible thought flashed through Obi-Wan's mind with chilling clarity.

"That was always our mission, wasn't it? We were never here to end the war between the Melida and the Daan. We were supposed to get a fleet into orbit and go home. But the Senate requires approval from a planet's government before they can leave more than a light cruiser in orbit, so we were sent to get permission from whichever leaders this planet had to offer."

Obi-Wan paused, studying his master. Surely he was wrong. Surely….

The continued silence was damning.

Obi-Wan tried to force down the complicated knot of emotions it invoked.

He failed.

Something hot and wet dripped down his chin, and Obi-Wan shot to his feet, stumbling away from the bolted-down table and its bolted-down chairs. "I'm not leaving this planet! I'm not-- I won't _abandon_ these people to die!"

Qui-Gon rose to his feet as well, towering over his padawan. "If you choose to stay here once the Stalwart arrives, you will not stay here as a Jedi," he warned lowly, stormy expression crossing his face.

"I don't care! It's not right! I can't just leave these people!" Obi-Wan shouted.

"Padawan! Think about what you're saying!" Qui-Gon shouted back. "Your attachment to this planet has clouded your judgment!"

"And your _de_ tachment will murder thousands!"

"We _cannot_ favor the life in front of us because it is the one we see. We defend the Republic - the whole Republic! - not just the individual planets. If you cannot come to see this, then you do not belong among the Jedi!" Qui-Gon roared.

Obi-Wan froze, heart skipping a beat.

_You do not belong amongst the Jedi._

Was his master serious? Was he getting kicked out?

He was a failure - a horrible, useless _failure._ He had promised Qui-Gon he would be the perfect Padawan, the best Padawan, the most dutiful Padawan the man had ever known, and he had failed.

He was too attached, too angry, too reckless. He wasn't worthy of being a Jedi. He wasn't supposed to be a Jedi.

The crechemasters had been right. His agemates had been right all along.

"You don't mean that," Obi-Wan whispered or begged, he wasn't really sure.

Qui-Gon's face darkened. "It is clear to me that you have become unacceptably attached to this planet. If you cannot let go of that attachment and leave when the Stalwart arrives, then you will be expelled from the Jedi Order."

Obi-Wan struggled to breathe past the lump in his throat, hand shakily moving towards his belt. He unclipped his lightsaber, twisting the simple silver cylinder that had defended his and Qui-Gon's lives for the last three years.

He looked up. Qui-Gon was watching him with an unreadable expression, but Obi-Wan could see the coldness in his eyes.

His master meant every word.

No, _Qui-Gon_ meant every word.

He stretched one hand out, silently offering his lightsaber to the Jedi. The lightsaber rattled momentarily, and then it flew into Qui-Gon's outstretched hand.

The man wouldn't even touch him. Force.

"Are you going to cut my braid as well?" Obi-Wan choked out.

An even darker look crossed Qui-Gon's face. "No. That is for Masters to do once their Padawans become Knights."

Obi-Wan shoved his hurt down, composing his face into the most perfectly blank expression he could, though he knew it was fractured and imperfect - like himself. He bowed, struggling to keep his tattered composure as he forced himself to recite, for the final time, "May the Force be with you."

Qui-Gon didn't reply as Obi-Wan turned and walked away.

Obi-Wan did his best not to sob as he made his retreat.

-0-

It felt like he had barely slept before Jango was dragging himself back into the streets. He had taken the time to brief Suki and Jagota, leaving orders to relay to the incoming Bikadinir and to summon more ships. He doubted they would need the reinforcements - the Bikadinir was fairly sizeable and fully staffed with over a thousand well-seasoned commandos - but the cleanup would be immense.

The drunks had mentioned the Daan using an E-Web against them, and Jango suspected that had been the firefight Kotyc had mentioned as they were coming in for a landing. Between the fact an E-Web would mow down a group the size of the drunks in seconds flat and the fact the whole bar had taken up chanting, it was incredibly likely that whatever group the drunks belonged to was larger than they appeared. If the fight had been between the adults and the Daan, he should be able to track both groups from that battlefield.

He spent some time searching around the port, trying to find the correct blasted-out street. The area around the space port was well-contested, with some walls sporting carbon scoring so old the carbon had mostly faded and blown away. He did eventually find the site, cleared of corpses but still littered with empty power packs, a discarded E-Web power chain, and the remains of what Jango recognized as improvised bombs.

A dozen different trails led out of the battlefield, crisscrossing and obscured by fresher trails from the corpse-collectors. It took all of Jango's considerable skill to pick out the clearest and follow it from the street through the city as it wound through alleys and thoroughfares. He would blame the convoluted route and lack of HUD for why he was surprised when it ended at the sewer entrance.

He cursed softly, ready to head back to the former battlefield. He already knew where the Daan had made their base - he needed more information on the bastards who thought they could get away with _killing_ fucking _children_.

He startled when he turned around only to come face to face with a small cadre of kids, heads and parts of their torsos all wrapped in loose fabric coverings. His blasters sprung into his hands by reflex at the sudden threat, but he made sure to very slowly, deliberately return the blasters to his holsters as the kids scrambled to raise their own rifles. He raised his hands next to his head as the kids all fanned out to surround him.

And then they stood there, and Jango had to struggle not to fidget.

No one seemed to know what to do, the kids all trading glances and silent messages until one, a slightly taller kid who had been walking in front, finally broke the silence.

"Who are you, and how'd you find us?" the kid demanded, gesturing with the blaster clutched in too-small hands.

"Easy, ad'ika," Jango replied soothingly. "I'm not here to hurt you."

"Uh huh. Then why're you here?"

Before he could answer, another person - slightly older than the patrol holding him at blaster point, but not by much if he had to judge by size and the smoothness of their face - turned down the alley. They took in the scene quickly, noting Jango's position closer to the sewer entrance and the visible weapons Jango had strapped to his body.

"Well hello there," they said, sounding surprised, a little taken aback, and very cautious. "Who might you be?"

The half-circle of kids shifted to allow this newcomer to approach, and Jango got his first good look at them. Average height, average build, no weapons, robes stained murky brown and splotchy green from the sewers, evidence of recent tears in the dirt trails on their cheeks, moved with the grace of a fighter. And then his eyes caught on the thin ginger braid dangling behind their ear.

_Jedi._

Jango saw red. He knew why kids were fighting now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bikadinir - stab (with a broad blade), to run through. A ship name in this context  
> Ad'ika - little one, also used informally with adults similar to English "guys" or "lads"
> 
> Happy Father's Day! Have one of many shitty examples of fatherhood from a galaxy far, far away. :)
> 
> I'm not 100% happy with the argument between Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon, but I've also reached the point where I don't think I can make it any better without letting it sit for months (and I don't want to do that since I'll likely never pick the story back up for at least a year). Obi-Wan is an easily-attached, stubborn teenager and Qui-Gon doesn't understand him anymore (if he ever did). Also, Obi-Wan is a somewhat unreliable narrator; he's too emotional to recognize how much Qui-Gon fears that Obi-Wan will follow in Xanatos' footsteps.


	6. Chapter 6

Obi-Wan had been surprised when he turned the corner and found Lissa's patrol holding a man at gunpoint. He had been even more surprised when the man went from cautious to furious in the span of a half second. If the man were capable of killing with his glare alone, the Young would have been burning Obi-Wan's corpse by nightfall.

He found himself beyond grateful the other Young were there. It was pretty obvious their presence was the only thing keeping him alive.

His hand twitched towards his lightsaber, but his lightsaber was gone. Gone, like his place in the Order.

Force.

"I'm sorry?" Obi-Wan offered shakily, not sure how he had offended this man but hardly wanting to escalate.

"You should be," he growled, body tensing to spring into action. The Young scouts all clutched their blasters a little tighter, and Obi-Wan eyed them nervously. Young or not, doomed by the Republic to a short life fighting in an endless war or not, none of them deserved to become killers, least of all for a twitchy finger.

(If he had to ignore all the ways the attacks he had personally led against the Elders had already made these children killers, then that was his business. At least the bombs were indirect - at least the children didn't need to see the light fade from their targets' eyes. It was a small mercy, but it was the best he could offer.)

"Let's all calm down here," Obi-Wan suggested, eyeing little Finor in particular. Finor was barely old enough to go on patrol, and he was not the best about trigger discipline. If he had to, he could _maybe_ freeze Finor's finger with the Force before the boy did something he would regret.

"You would like that wouldn't you, _Jedi?"_ the man spat.

Obi-Wan tilted his head in question, doing his best to bury the stab of pain and yearning that title evoked under a mask of Jedi serenity.

"You're using these kids, aren't you? It's not enough to steal babies, now you're conscripting kids to fight your battles for you!" the man accused.

"Wait, _what?_ " Obi-Wan asked, completely flummoxed, mask falling like a dropped bombshell. "No, I don't want anyone to accidentally shoot you!"

The man snorted.

Obi-Wan breathed out harshly. He was too exhausted to deal with this right now. "Let's all just take a deep breath. You're an off-worlder, right? You've got an accent. And that means you're no threat to us," Obi-Wan said, looking pointedly at the Young patrol.

The scouts relaxed slightly at Obi-Wan's words, but their suspicion still shone in the Force.

"I don't hurt kids," the man ground out, glancing around at the scouts, and Obi-Wan could feel his sincerity even as his glare returned full force on Obi-Wan himself. Lissa caught his eye, question clear in the tilt of her wrapped head and pointed looks. He nodded, and the Young scouts all relaxed a little more.

"I didn't conscript the Young," Obi-Wan stated firmly.

"Yeah! We're fighting the Elders 'cause that's how we're gonna end the war!" Tamar chirped, and Obi-Wan groaned as he covered his face with a palm.

"Right," Obi-Wan agreed with a tight smile. "If anything, they're the ones who conscripted me."

The man looked skeptical, glaring pointedly at the braid. Obi-Wan tugged at the symbol of his former position self-consciously, bundling it up in his fist to hide it from view. He had worn it for so long, he hardly thought about it anymore, but now it would have to go. …Eventually.

He wouldn't - couldn't - allow his actions here to tarnish the Jedi Order.

"I'm Obi-Wan Kenobi, and these are the Young. As Tamar said, our goal is to stop the Melida and the Daan from fighting and to establish a lasting peace on this planet," Obi-Wan stated, looking pointedly at the man for an introduction even as the man's brow furrowed briefly in confusion.

The man stubbornly held his silence, and Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. "Would you mind introducing yourself? It's really quite difficult to teach good manners when no one else uses them," he chided.

"I don't like Jedi," the man grumbled, but Obi-Wan could tell he was ever-so-slightly amused and a little less tense. The confusion earlier had been completely overcome with something else Obi-Wan couldn't parse, and the fiery rage in the Force had diminished to lightly simmering anger.

"That's fine," Obi-Wan replied with a tight little smile. "It's still rude to withhold your name."

"Jango," the man finally ground out.

"What, like Fett?" Obi-Wan asked before his brain could catch up to his mouth.

Jango released a put-upon sigh. "You have no idea how many times I've heard that," he grumbled, still eyeing Obi-Wan and the Young cautiously. Obi-Wan sympathized. He himself happened to mostly share a first name - and appearance, if only in that they were both male and human - with child star Oli'kwan Barregan. It had been jarring the first time a pantoran adolescent had stopped him for an autograph after overhearing Qui-Gon call for him.

His eyes flitted back over Obi-Wan to linger over his shoulder, and Obi-Wan belatedly realized he was still clutching his braid. He let it go and self-consciously tugged it back into place. "Never met a Jedi with a sense of humor before."

"And you still haven't," Obi-Wan replied as airily as he could muster, stepping around Jango towards the sewer entrance. "Shall we go inside? It's very uncivilized to have this sort of conversation out in the open."

Jango rather pointedly looked between Obi-Wan's stained robes, the scouts' mishmash of dirty face coverings, and the rusty sewer entrance as if to point out exactly how uncivilized this more civilized location was.

Obi-Wan removed the grate and gestured the man inside with the best cheeky grin he could manage.

-0-

The little Jedi was trouble, in Jango's expert opinion. The other person - child? Adult? They were close enough to the line that Jango wasn't certain - was irritatingly good with the kids Jango had encountered, teasing and cajoling the youngest as they all made their way through the sewers.

He disliked Jedi as a general rule. Oh, they were always a great fight, dancing and jumping around the battlefield in a way that guaranteed a challenge, but he had heard enough stories to know he would never like them. Stealing babies from their parents' arms? Raising those stolen children to be emotionless sorcerers? Letting those sorcerers run loose across the galaxy to corrupt more children? Simply _disgusting_.

And exactly what he would expect a Jedi like Kenobi to do, even if this little Jedi was far more open than any he had encountered before. Perhaps that was a function of age more than anything - he had never fought (or met) a Jedi younger than thirty standard.

They entered the main quarters and the kids immediately scampered away, hastily depositing their weapons in a nearby rack. The little Jedi watched them tear off with a mix of exasperation and amusement, even as they double checked the rifles were secured. The same kid who had demanded answers from him hovered anxiously, face wrapping dangling around their neck to reveal a prepubescent human female face, while the little Jedi inspected the weapons. At the Jedi's approving nod, the girl grinned brilliantly and ran away.

"Don't forget to report back to Nield! And send him and Cerasi to me when you get a chance!" the Jedi called to the kid fondly. The girl shouted an acknowledgement back as they disappeared behind a stack of crates. The little Jedi slumped as the kids vanished deeper into the main room, "I wish they didn't have to do this."

"Why do they?" Jango asked, a spark of anger flickering back to life in his chest.

"The Young," the Kenobi started and cut himself off, a myriad of emotions flashing across his face, " _we_ are all orphans. Tell me, Jango, what do you know about Melida/Daan?"

Jango quirked one eyebrow at the distinction, filing away that note for later. He had had the bad feeling he had gotten bad intel back at the bar since the first meeting at the sewer entrance, but there was no way in Hell he would hint that to an enemy and Kenobi seemed chatty enough… "Not much. I didn't mean to spend this much time on the planet." Which was a true enough statement to pass whatever lie detecting magic this little Jedi had.

Kenobi eyed him up and down, eyebrow quirked and voice dry. "Yes, I suppose this isn't the sort of place a pirate would stop at."

"I'm not a pirate," Jango protested, offended. As if he would ever take up such an honorless profession. Jaster would have his head for it!

Kenobi made a vaguely agreeing sound, clearly humoring him. Jango glared, but Kenobi didn't seem to care.

"Melida/Daan has been at war with itself for over a century. No one is really certain when or why the war started since all records from that time have been destroyed, but neither Melida nor Daan are willing to stop fighting," Kenobi explained as they led the two towards a collection of crates that could vaguely pass as a table and chairs.

"So this isn't the Daan," Jango confirmed.

"No, it isn't. Are you looking for them?" Kenobi asked, wary. Jango shook his head, making a mental note to update Suki and Jagota.

"Overheard some people cursing them in a bar last night. I suppose those were Melida," Jango explained.

"Yes, probably," Kenobi agreed. "The Young are a group of orphans from both sides of the war, founded and led by Cerasi and Nield."

"And you?" Jango asked. "You have a Jedi braid, and those look like Jedi robes under the filth. How do you fit in all this?"

Kenobi glanced off to the side, reaching up to tug at their braid self-consciously. "I, uh… I thought I was sent to negotiate peace between the Melida and the Daan, but I really don't want to talk about it until Cerasi and Nield get here."

Jango grunted in displeasure, but accepted the delay. "So tell me more about the Young."

"Right," the little Jedi acknowledged, straightening in their seat as if giving a sitrep to a commander. "The Young recognize that the only way Melida/Daan will have peace is if the cycle of constant battle between the Melida and the Daan is broken. We're working on crippling both sides' ability to fight by cutting off their weapons supplies. The space port was our first major target, ending the import of weapons to Melida/Daan. We've also been targeting weapons convoys and factories, stealing the cargo and shutting down production wherever possible."

Jango glared, latching on to what Kenobi had just said. "You were responsible for the space port bombing?" He had known it was this group of kids - the Young - who had planted the bombs that ultimately killed his soldiers, but it still hurt to hear it casually confirmed by someone he may or may not be able to kill in good conscience.

"Yes. I led the team that planted the bombs while Nield led the diversion."

"Did you know you also indirectly destroyed every ship in the yard and over a dozen people at the same time?" Jango asked fiercely, ignoring the stab of grief at the memory.

Kenobi blanched, one hand moving to partially cover their mouth. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. We tried to avoid killing as many people as possible," they apologized earnestly, truth and the beginnings of tears shining in their eyes, though the little Jedi refused to let them fall. "I'm really sorry you lost someone during that, we didn't mean to," they finished softly.

Jango dismissed how the little Jedi could possibly know that. Kriffing Jedi magic, probably.

"What is the plan after you take away all the weapons?" Jango asked, mostly to move away from the uncomfortable turn in conversation and give them both a moment to bury their emotions.

Kenobi obliged, a deep blush spreading across their face and ears. "It seems rather childish in retrospect," they trailed off, glancing back at Jango. "We're going to get the Melida and Daan leaders together with no weapons and no choice and make them agree to stop fighting for good."

Jango nodded. It was far from the most elaborate or sophisticated plan, but it might work, depending on the personalities involved. Assuming, of course, the rest of the planet followed their leader's surrender.

"What about reinforcements? Do you have a plan to keep additional forces away when you get the leaders together? And what about any forces outside the city?"

"We haven't figured anything out quite yet," Kenobi answered, shooting Jango a suspicious look. "That's rather insightful," they commented mildly, "What is it you do again?"

Luckily, Jango was spared having to come up with some creative half truth as two humans approached their crate-table. Kenobi introduced them as Cerasi and Nield, and Jango took the time to study the founding members of the Young.

They were not as young as the name would have had Jango believe, maybe a few years older than Kenobi, and definitely adults by Republic, Mandalorian, Sith, and Hutt standards. They did not strike him as the type to recruit children to fight battles they should be avoiding, but appearances could be deceiving.

"Hi Obi-Wan. Lissa said you wanted us both?" Nield asked, leaning casually against a wall of crates to Jango's right.

"Yes, thank you for coming," Kenobi politely greeted, face smoothing into a blank mask. "This may take a while since I've got a lot to share, but it's important. As you know, I left this morning to speak with my-- with Master Jinn," Kenobi corrected, pain flickering across the mask. "He had information vital to the Young's cause."

Kenobi's eyes flashed over to meet Jango's, "As you all know, Master Jinn and I were sent to Melida/Daan to open negotiations between the Melida and the Daan. When the mission first began, I thought the goal was to broker an end to the civil war. I was mistaken," he stated simply, voice cracking ever-so-slightly. Cerasi gasped, reaching over to rest one hand on Kenobi's shoulder. Jango did not miss the way Kenobi leaned slightly into the support.

The little Jedi flashed a weak smile to Cerasi. "The mission was actually to negotiate the presence of at least one Acclamator-class medium cruiser in orbit around Melida/Daan. Master Jinn successfully concluded negotiations sometime late yesterday or early this morning. The Stalwart is expected to arrive in two days time, at which point the Jedi's mission will end."

"Obi-Wan," Cerasi murmured sadly, hand clutching the little Jedi's shoulder.

"What does that mean for you? And for us?" Nield asked tersely, all business. Jango could respect that. "If your mission was never to bring an end to this blasted civil war, does that mean you'll be leaving when the Stalwart arrives?"

"No," Kenobi stated firmly, meeting Nield's gaze for a second before falling down to his hands. "I, um, gave Master Jinn my lightsaber before coming back here."

"You gave him your lightsaber? But doesn't that mean…?" Nield asked, trying to puzzle through whatever the other male was not saying. Jango felt his eyebrows involuntarily rise. Jedi were insular and secretive - it was difficult to get any intel on their culture or way of life - but the whole galaxy knew every Jedi or Sith carried at least one lightsaber.

Something pitiful flashed across Kenobi's face as he confirmed what Jango suspected in a small, broken voice. "As of today, I am no longer a Jedi," the no-longer-a-little-Jedi looked up, desperately meeting the Young leaders' eyes. Their blank mask crumbled completely, revealing a sort of desperation Jango had seen only on cornered commandos. "I couldn't leave you all behind. I couldn't just leave a bunch of kids to _die!_ Not when I can do something about it, and especially not when we're so close to the end."

  
And wasn't that interesting, Jango wondered as Cerasi wrapped Kenobi in a tight hug, Jango himself settling back to contemplate everything he had just learned. Maybe Kenobi wasn't so bad… for a (former) Jedi, of course.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obi-Wan and Jango have officially met! And Jango has more information, which he will definitely not use to his advantage. Nope. Not in any way. Obi-Wan will also definitely never regret giving so much away (one day, he'll learn how to talk without saying anything, but for now he's still making mistakes. He's 16 and he's had a really long day, cut him some slack.)
> 
> Jango started out really angry, but he has a short fuse and a short burn at those temperatures. The Young made him pause while Kenobi was being very reasonable and non-aggressive, so Jango figured he could gather more intel before murdering the manipulative Jedi. If he's decided to postpone Kenobi's death a little while longer since the kids really like him and Kenobi is a wealth of information, then that's his business.
> 
> Is Jango's use of gender-neutral (but also possibly plural) "they" becoming difficult to understand? I've got a plan to work more of that in to Obi-Wan's perspective as he becomes Mandalorian, but I would appreciate feedback on whether that is too confusing.


	7. Chapter 7

Jango fought not to grin when Lissa came to collect him for an early morning strategy meeting. He suspected he knew why he had been called, and it made the ruthless Mando in him pleased. 

He did so love when a plan came together. 

Lissa led him to an out-of-the-way nook where multiple crates had been arranged into a passable, if low-tech, command center. Cerasi and Kenobi were already there along with a handful of children whose names Jango had yet to learn. He felt a frown play at the edges of his mouth at the sight - there were far too _many_ child soldiers on this gods damned planet. 

Nield was the last to enter the room, quickly taking a position at the head of a tattered map of the city. Expired power packs and rocks were laid out across the surface to denote various Elder forces while a series of twisting red and blue lines scrawled across the surface indicated primary and secondary Young tunnels. Nield hardly glanced at them as he cleared his throat and called the meeting to order. 

"Ladies, gentlemen," he greeted, resting his hands on the crate so he was hunched over the map like a particularly weary general. "We have our next target. The destruction of Zehava Space Port has the Elders scrambling to regroup and resupply. Dash's intelligence indicates both sides believe the other is responsible, which means we need to strike now before they realize there is a third faction." He looked around at the other Young, a vicious grin crossing his face. "And I don't mean little raids like we've been doing, especially before Obi-Wan joined us. Our move at the Port was bold - and the Elders will soon realize we exist." 

Jango glanced around the room, reading determination and eagerness on many faces. Cerasi and Kenobi, who still looked a bit fragile beneath their professional mask, traded glances in some silent conversation. 

"Where are the Elders going to get more weapons?" Nield asked rhetorically, repeating Jango's own words from their private late night discussion almost verbatim. "We've been cutting off weapons supplies everywhere we can, but the Elders can still communicate back to whatever forces are outside Zehava for more aid. The Elder leaders are here! We can force an end to this war if we can cut them off from reinforcements." 

Nield pointed dramatically at a series of hills outside the city edge. "All communications in and out of Zehava rely on these comm arrays. If we destroy them, the Elders won't be able to call for backup or more weapons. After that, we can force an end to this war once and for all." 

An excited murmur arose from the Young, and Jango allowed his grin to show. Nield was very correct - _all_ communications in and out of Zehava relied on a series of comm repeaters, including any communications to and from the inbound Stalwart. 

That Jango's own Mandalorians would be warned of the upcoming communication blackout and the subsequent chaos was simply… coincidence. 

"We used most of our large explosives on the port," Kenobi pointed out, one fist resting under their chin in a thinking pose. "Did Pana manage to liberate more from the Daan in that last raid?" 

"No, only got some power packs," a girl around Kenobi's age replied, glaring towards the ammo depot the Young had established. 

"What kind and how many?" Kenobi asked while Cerasi and Nield exchanged disappointed looks. 

"Norav Industries AN-97s, and about three dozen." 

Kenobi hummed, tapping their chin. "Three dozen could make a few good explosions," Jango offered helpfully. 

The former Jedi nodded at Jango before elaborating for the other Young. "It's an old pirate's trick," Obi-Wan said, ignoring Jango's scowl and indignant protest, "and our Noravs aren't the most reliable anyways. If we short the energy cells and remove thermal safeguards, the cells should overheat and ignite the tibanna gas. That should be enough to do some damage, even if it's not as good as a plastoid detonator," they rambled before addressing the other Young leaders, "How old are the arrays?" 

"Probably close to eighty, ninety years," Cerasi answered. "It's not like there's a lot of chance to work on infrastructure around here, and if it still works there's no reason to fix it." 

"So we could probably make it work. Especially if we supplement the Noravs with a couple spare Blastechs," Kenobi stated certainly. "How many repeaters are in Zehava?" 

"Four," Pana replied promptly. "I think?" they corrected as the Young ran through mental tallies. 

"At least three," Nield agreed. "And we'll have Dash's team confirm later this afternoon and adjust our plan as necessary." 

"So there are three or four sites within Zehava, and two large arrays on the hills. Because of how the packs go off, we won't be able to precisely coordinate our blasts, even if we started everything at the same time," the former Jedi mused. "Once the repeaters are destroyed, the arrays on the hills will become significantly more dangerous," Kenobi warned before pausing and grimacing slightly. "I will take out one of the arrays, and I can take one other person with me to take out the other array." 

Their words, predictably, launched a series of loud protests. "Why can't you take more people?" Cerasi demanded, eyes flashing. 

And rather than answer, Kenobi vanished. 

Or, no, not quite vanished. Jango could see Kenobi right in front of him, knew they were standing mere inches from his side, but his eyes slid right off the stained robes to land on crates at either side. When he focused, he could keep Obi-Wan's presence in his mind for a few long moments before it slipped away like blood off well-oiled beskar. 

And just like magic, the notice-me-not lifted as suddenly as it fell. Kenobi's proximity was the only reason Jango could hear their soft gasp for breath as the illusion vanished. 

"It's a Jedi technique," Kenobi explained somewhat breathlessly as if they hadn't turned Jango's knowledge of Jedi magic on its head. "I'm not strong enough to use it on more than one other person, and it only gets harder the more people I have to trick. We don't know what kind of defenses or patrols surround the arrays. You know how I cut our patrols into smaller groups so they were more effective at sneaking around? This is the same thing, but with the Force." 

Cerasi huffed but seemed to accept the point. Nield was not as easily convinced. "And you plan to use this… disappearing technique… to escape when we can't coordinate blasts?" 

Kenobi's face twisted with grief and guilt. "Among other things," they said, shooting significant looks between the blaster rack and the youngest children. 

Jango felt approval and something else twist in his chest as he realized what Kenobi was trying to do. No easy escape, huge potential for enemies to be alerted at precisely the wrong time, and only being able to take a small crew? 

The crazy bastard was throwing themselves into danger to shield the younger Young. 

"I'll join 'em," Jango stated, touching his blasters significantly. "I've shot my way out of a few tight spots before." 

Mischief sparkled behind Kenobi's eyes. "I'm sure you have, pirate." 

Jango rolled his eyes, but let it go with a petulant, "Not a pirate." 

"So Jango and I will take out the arrays. Lissa, Val, Lumia, Zare, Myra, Dash, Niall, and Morag will pair up and take out the repeaters. Any questions?" they asked almost rhetorically, as if the Young didn't make a habit of interrupting with questions whenever they had one. "Then let's go over ingress and egress plans," Kenobi ordered, drawing all attention back to the tattered map while Jango sat back and watched. 

He did so love when the universe worked with him (for once on this gods damned mission). 

-0- 

Several hours later, while most of the Young nibbled on whatever watered down rations they had managed to scrape together for latemeal, Obi-Wan paced the sewers like a frustrated tooka. The vibroknife he had tucked in his belt weighed heavily on his hip, but every time he found somewhere to do the deed, he froze. 

He was no longer a Jedi. He had no right to wear their symbols or carry their weapons, and he should cut the braid his Ma-- _Master Jinn_ had refused to cut at that café near the plaza, but it was a struggle. 

It hurt, as much as he was able to occasionally ignore it. It hurt to wear the braid, and it hurt to even _think_ of cutting it. He had already chosen to stay with the Young, already chosen to all but throw himself headlong into their fight, but it still hurt to lose the last symbols of his _life_. 

Obi-Wan paced, fingering the vibroknife. He had failed to cut the braid in any secluded corner of the sewers, but maybe outside the sewers, with only the stars to witness his shame, he could finish the job. 

He stood at the sewer entrance for several long minutes, head tipped towards stars he would likely never travel again, as he breathed fresh, cold air. He tried sorting and releasing his emotions like he had been taught, but it was difficult with all the uncertainty and fear and hope swirling through the Force on this planet. 

Distant footsteps had him snapping back to the present, feet automatically shifting into a balanced defensive stance. He relaxed as soon as Jango turned the corner, a small box of commlinks balanced on one hand. 

"Hello," Obi-Wan greeted softly before turning his gaze back towards the sky. 

"Hey," Jango returned as he came to a stop next to Obi-Wan. "I got the comms," he said unnecessarily. 

Obi-Wan nodded, giving up on his semi-meditation. "That should help our part significantly," he acknowledged with a smile. A quick glance at the box revealed several comms ranging from positively ancient to cracked and dropped-a-few-too-many times. He frowned. "Do these still work?" 

"Don't know. My business partner says they work, but I haven't tested them." Jango shrugged as he poked at the pile. Obi-Wan felt both brows shoot up as the prodding revealed an outdated GAR comm favored by smugglers and lowlifes the galaxy over for their availability in less legal markets. 

Obi-Wan turned a bemused look towards Jango, all but laughing aloud as Jango's tanned skin pinked. "Business partner? There's got to be a better euphemism for 'partner in crime' than that," Obi-Wan teased. 

"Whatever," Jango muttered, glaring at the muddy, churned ground for a while. "So what brings you out here?" 

"I came to find some peace," Obi-Wan admitted with a brittle smile, his good mood vanishing like mist on a hot day. "Cerasi means well, but I really don't need Finor or Lissa or any of the other kids hovering around me like I'll shatter at any second." 

Jango hummed sympathetically, and Obi-Wan did his best to ignore the feeling of Jango assessing him. 

"You know you don't have to join our fight," Obi-Wan said suddenly. "You're free to leave whenever." 

"You're a bunch of kids," Jango replied as if that were all the answer he needed. 

Obi-Wan sighed. "I don't think the Young have ever been kids," he said mournfully. 

Jango's displeasure and anger roiled uncomfortably in the Force, and Obi-Wan frowned as he stared at the ground. So much for distracting the smuggler, he thought, but at least Jango's gaze was pulled off him to glare ineffectually at the alley walls. 

"I was raised to believe that children are our future. I can't abandon them either," Jango expanded, glancing at Obi-Wan from the corner of his eye while Obi-Wan hummed his agreement. "Which begs the question: how could the Jedi?" 

The former Jedi grimaced, pushing aside the stab of hurt. He grasped for his serenity, wrapping it around his shoulders like a tattered cloak. "The galaxy is at war, and the Jedi have a duty to all sentients who live in this galaxy," Obi-Wan answered, woodenly reciting lessons learned at Master Neetu's knee. "To linger on Melida/Daan would mean abandoning people in need on Cerea or Ringo Vinda or any number of other worlds." 

Jango scoffed. "You don't believe that." 

Obi-Wan felt his façade crack, and hastily shored his defenses. "That's irrelevant. Jedi must consider all lives valuable. If staying on Melida/Daan saved five hundred lives, but leaving Melida/Daan to defend Scarif could save a thousand, then the Jedi should defend Scarif." 

"Even if those five hundred lives are children?" Jango asked, voice once again tightly controlled. 

"'All lives are equal in the Force,'" Obi-Wan recited, even as his heart twisted in his chest. It was one thing to learn these lessons in the Temple, to see the numbers and the philosophies and the debates and accept that this is how the galaxy worked, but it was another thing entirely to _see_ the five hundred lives he would sacrifice to save five hundred more. 

He really was a piss-poor Jedi. Former Jedi. He scowled. 

"I call bantha shit," Jango said fiercely. "It's five hundred _children_. Those must be more valuable than a thousand old people. To use your 'preciously indifferent numbers _,'"_ he mocked, "surely the lost years of potential means saving five hundred kids over a thousand adults." 

"But children provide value back into society once they're adults. Adults are valuable immediately," Obi-Wan argued, remembering some of the clinical debates the teaching masters back in the Temple had led them through. Jango's anger spiked but Obi-Wan pressed on before the smuggler could argue. "And what if those thousand souls on Scarif included five hundred children as well? Would it not maximize good in the galaxy to save the thousand souls?" 

"Would you not lose lives transferring planets? How would you know which planet needs more help?" Jango asked, but Obi-Wan could tell the smuggler was getting frustrated. He sympathized. It was hard to argue against such dogma when there was always a Master who would tip the numbers or twist the arguments until the initiates had to concede their point and accept the Master's wisdom. 

"Lives lost while changing planets would have been lost anyways, but can be accounted for. Same with which planet needs help the most. If saving Scarif would also save Molavar, Ukio, and Rishi, then you must add those potential lives saved to the equation." 

"You don't believe any of this kark anyways," Jango said, rolling his eyes. 

Obi-Wan heaved a sigh. "No, but that's what we were taught, back in the Temple. I thought it would be easy, that everything was so clear. I'm not so sure anymore," he admitted quietly, feeling like the worst betrayer. 

Jango turned his gaze back on Obi-Wan, assessing him. "No," he said slowly. "Because deep down, you're still a good person." 

"Am I?" Obi-Wan asked desperately, searching Jango's face for… something. Approval, maybe? Truth? Obi-Wan wasn't sure. The Force refused to tell him whether he was doing the right thing, but maybe older, wiser people could. 

"You're here, aren't you?" Jango answered simply. And yes, it was that simple. He _was_ doing the right thing, staying with the Young. He had slashed Young casualties almost to zero since joining them and that was definitely _good_. 

Right? 

Something in Obi-Wan eased, and he extracted the vibroknife from his belt, offering the hilt to Jango. 

"Could you…?" Obi-Wan trailed off, flushing a deep red at Jango's surprised expression. He felt like a fool. Cutting a Padawan braid was intensely personal, and Jango was practically a stranger. He couldn't ask that! But Jango took the knife before he could retract the offer, glancing between the short blade and Obi-Wan's face before trailing his eyes to the braid brushing his shoulder as if asking whether Obi-Wan was sure. 

Obi-Wan offered his bravest smile, though he knew it came out shakier than he would have liked. Jango's face softened in sympathy and understanding and heart-wrenching _kindness_ , and Obi-Wan turned his head slightly, offering better access to the root of the braid. 

He could feel the blade edge tug slightly at the hair, and then slice through cleanly. 

He felt paradoxically lighter and heavier than ever as the braid fell into the mud between them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had not planned on Jango cutting Obi-Wan's braid until Obi-Wan was firmly in Mandalore's hands, but the two of them got talking and Obi-Wan changed his mind. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> And yes, the Jedi Order is clinical and cold. Their poor compassion has been crushed over the years.


	8. Chapter 8

Jango tried not to gag as he breathed through the musty, dirty green face wrap that Cerasi had insisted he wear. Apparently it was traditional (as much as any tradition could spring up in a place like Melida/Daan) for warriors to cover their faces before embarking on anything that may result in death. Something about souls slipping out of corpses' mouths and possibly slipping into the warrior's body? Jango wasn't sure, but it had been easier to accept the tattered fabric and wind it around his head than continue arguing. 

And Obi-Wan all but begging him to go along with Cerasi's demands with their stupid pretty eyes had absolutely not helped Jango say no. 

The Young strike force traveled cautiously through Zehava, ducking into shadows and alleys whenever an Elder passed by on the street. Obi-Wan led the way, clearly using his Jedi magic to sense upcoming patrols as he had them hide away apparently at random only for an Elder to walk by moments later. Jango pulled up the rear, constantly alert for any danger. 

The group split not far from what was once a school, Obi-Wan and Jango heading towards the hills while the group of young teens Obi-Wan had selected for this mission slipped into alleys or atop roofs to approach their own targets. Each group clutched one of the commlinks Jango had retrieved from Jagota like it was precious beskar. 

With only the two of them, Obi-Wan and Jango made good time. If the former Jedi was at all suspicious of Jango's skill at slipping through the city, they gave no indication as they continued focusing on the mission ahead. 

When the comm arrays sprung from the hills like particularly spindly trees, Jango could only eye them with a vicious, suppressed glee. 

He did love a plan coming together. 

Obi-Wan led them in a circuitous path through the thin forest, only having to pause once to wait for some ugnaughts in maintenance uniforms to return to their speeder. At the former Jedi's signal, they split ways and cut towards the two arrays. 

The former Jedi had clearly been dodging patrols as Jango came across two heavily armed (if not particularly attentive) adults smoking death sticks during his approach. His blasters were up and firing before either Elder had a chance to react to Jango's presence, their corpses left smoking in the forest from twin blaster burns. 

His commlink chirped twice to indicate Obi-Wan was in position. Jango quickly began arranging his modified Noravs around rusty supports before taking a moment to drag what comm cables could be moved by hand closer to the improvised explosives. Satisfied, Jango clicked his own commlink twice. 

"On my mark," Obi-Wan chirped, tinny and sharp through the cheap speaker. "Mark." 

At the command, Jango waited thirty seconds (a buffer he and Obi-Wan had privately agreed to in order to guarantee the other explosives went off first), tied the trigger into a fired state, and retreated back into the scant forest. He hovered just long enough to ensure the blaster overheated before running for the rendezvous point, the sound of explosions and screeching durasteel echoing behind him. 

Obi-Wan met him at the valley between their two hills, panting slightly from their own hasty retreat. No words were exchanged as they ran for Zehava, Obi-Wan casting their notice-me-not while maintenance droids and a handful of Elders swarmed the area. 

Distant plumes of smoke and the sudden absence of any comm signal indicated the repeaters had also been taken down. As they dodged between alleyways, Jango caught Obi-Wan's eye and couldn't help but revel at the happiness shining from those blue-gray eyes. 

-0- 

The Young were positively jubilant when Jango's raiding party returned to the sewers. Obi-Wan allowed himself to smile and laugh as the Young celebrated, drawing him in to hugs and grabbing his hands to jump and spin in happy circles. 

The end of this bloody conflict really was right around the corner, and they could all sense it. It lightened something in Obi-Wan's heart to see such unrestrained joy. 

Would the rest of the galaxy celebrate like this once the Republic defeated the Sith and the Mandalorians? It was hard to say. The GAR and the Jedi had worked so hard for so long to keep the war from the average citizen, but he knew as well as any other Jedi that most GAR soldiers had not volunteered to serve. Certainly those mid- and outer-rim planets that most soldiers hailed from would celebrate. 

Obi-Wan could feel the smile slipping from his face as he thought of the larger galaxy. Between the comm raid and the day-to-day duties every Young participated in, he had been too busy to really contemplate Qui-Gon's ominous warning. 

There was no way the Elders would be convinced to unite against an external threat, which meant the Young would have to establish control over Melida/Daan quickly if they wanted to coordinate an effective defense with the Republic against the Mandalorians. 

He may not have a lot of experience fighting Mandos, but the Temple rumor mill had made sure every young Jedi knew a few indisputable facts. First and foremost: Mandalorians took no prisoners. If the Young wanted to survive, they would need the Republic's help. They could use the Stalwart to contact the Republic, demand more troops-- 

"What's got you so glum?" Jango interrupted, gently bumping shoulders, humor glinting in his amber eyes. 

"I'm just thinking. Don't mind me," Obi-Wan deflected, drifting towards the edge of the room where he could think in peace. 

Jango followed, coming to rest against the dirty sewer wall next to the former Jedi. "What about? I figured you would be as happy as everyone else around here." 

Obi-Wan sighed, sensing Jango wouldn't leave him be without further questioning in the determined eddies coming off the smuggler. "I'm thinking about the future. We're close, but Master Qu-- Master Jinn's warning has me concerned." 

"That was the warning about the Mandalorians, right? The whole reason you came was to get a Republic fleet in orbit to defend against them," Jango asked, though it sounded too certain to truly be a question. 

Obi-Wan nodded, gaze drifting back over the Young. 

"Would it really be so bad if the Mandalorians came?" Jango asked casually, and Obi-Wan's gaze snapped back onto the man. "I've met a few and they're not all bad. Might even be good for this planet." 

Obi-Wan could feel his brow furrow, suspicion niggling in the back of his mind. 

"Hey, you can't blame me for being a little fond of the people who got Budig the Hutt off my tail," the smuggler defended. 

Obi-Wan huffed a quiet laugh. "Of course you would have a Hutt after you, pirate," he complained, mostly to see Jango's faux-affronted expression. "I've met a Mandalorian before as well. It was terrifying, and I don't want that for the Young." 

Jango hummed, turning his gaze towards the celebrating children. "Tell me about it," he asked after a while. 

The former Jedi heaved a deep, steadying breath. "It was my first ever official mission as a Padawan. Qui-Gon and I were still figuring things out, and the mission was supposed to be straightforward. A group of refugees were seeking a new home after the Sith bombarded their old one from space. 

"Master Qui-Gon and I were sent to a few planets to determine habitability and assess what additional resources the Corps would need to establish a new home for the refugees. We decided Teevy VI would be the best choice and prepared to make our recommendations to the Council when a Mandalorian light cruiser appeared in orbit. 

"I still don't know what Mandalorians were even doing that close to Hutt Space, but Qui-Gon sent me back to the ship to call for backup and possibly rescue him from his own fight. I almost made it when a Mando cut me off," Obi-Wan recalled. 

"It was probably a scouting party," Jango surmised. "Or they were raiding the Hutts. They do that sometimes," he said with a smirk that had Obi-Wan rolling his eyes. "Don't mind me. Carry on, please." 

"Of course," Obi-Wan drawled. "The Mandalorian and I fought for a bit, and it was pretty obvious I was going to lose. I lost my lightsaber and the Mando had his blaster pointed at my head ready to shoot when my Master appeared. He pushed the Mando away, grabbed me, and ran into the ship. We escaped, but only barely, as they opened fire on our mostly shield-less ship," Obi-Wan concluded with a shudder. "I thought we were going to die." 

Jango frowned at him, concern radiating in the Force as he reached out to rest a steadying hand against Obi-Wan's shoulder. Obi-Wan gave a small smile in thanks. "That wasn't the last time Master Jinn saved my life, but I'll never forget it," no matter what, he didn't say. 

"I would expect nothing less," Jango stated firmly, shifting positions so the two leaned against the wall and each other. Obi-Wan barely refrained from twitching away, appreciating Jango's attempt at comfort if not the method. "My own father saved my life back in the day, and I don't think he'll ever let me forget," the smuggler said with a wistful smile. 

Obi-Wan chuckled. "Qui-Gon's not that bad," he said with his own nostalgic smile, remembering a particular princess and her insistence on "thanking the Jedi properly." He had delighted at his master's embarrassment at implied sex as gratitude and his master's further insistence that his impressionable Padawan forget the incident ever happened. "He's taught me everything I know, even if I chose to leave it behind," he admitted, face falling. 

Jango turned to face him fully, frown all the more pronounced. "Let's talk about that," he demanded. "You've already gone over that philosophy bantha kark, but still. What the hell? Making you choose between him and the Young is kriffed up." 

Obi-Wan shook his head. "The Jedi way is one of no attachments. 'Attachment leads to fear,' and so on to the Dark Side," Obi-Wan explained, not entirely sure why Jango was so outraged. "And he was right; it is wrong for Jedi to value one life over another." 

Jango still looked puzzlingly unhappy with that answer. "He's essentially your father, right?" he asked pointedly before waiting for a reply. 

"Mmm, I suppose, from a certain point of view," Obi-Wan said eventually, though he privately felt calling Qui-Gon (or any Jedi Master) a parent was a stretch. To an outsider, it would seem close enough, he supposed. 

"How could he make you make that choice? You're a kid--" "--Sixteen.--" "--You're sixteen, and he made you choose between family and friends. That's bantha kark," Jango declared, crossing his arms over his chest. 

"I'll agree it's not ideal," Obi-Wan said, ignoring the smuggler's snort. "But I understand where he's coming from, and," Obi-Wan trailed off before continuing with a small voice, "and I forgive him. I forgave him a while ago." 

It was a true statement, Obi-Wan knew, though it didn't fully encompass his feelings towards his former master. Jango seemed to sense that as the smuggler gave him a frankly disbelieving look for several moments before shaking his head. 

"You're really something else, Kenobi," he said with a small smile, something dark and unfamiliar to Obi-Wan playing at the edges. "The Jedi were lucky to have you." 

Obi-Wan tried not to think too much about that statement as he turned to watch Lissa and Finor dance. 


	9. Chapter 9

Obi-Wan watched the camp grimly. They were nearing the end of this bloody campaign, he could sense it, just like he could sense his young charges hidden around the secondary Melida headquarters. 

Weapons were cut off, trade was halted, and communications were gone. All that remained was making Wehutti and Wemont realize the civil war was over. 

The former Jedi clutched the blaster hidden in his dirty robes a little tighter. 

He waited, tense and anxious, as Wehutti emerged from the most fortified building, located dead center of camp. The brown haired man took a moment to survey the area as Melida soldiers ushered him into an idling speeder. 

Soon. Not quite yet, but soon. Obi-Wan wormed two fingers beneath his face wrap and to his mouth in preparation. 

The vehicle trundled away from the building slowly, gaining speed and an escort speeder as it turned towards a wide street. Many soldiers turned to watch it go before turning back to their various duties. 

Obi-Wan whistled a sharp, piercing bird call. 

Blaster bolts immediately rained down upon the Melida from all sides. He watched clinically as the camp descended into chaos, some soldiers immediately taking charge to shout direction. Obi-Wan targeted those people first, using the Force to guide his aim as soldier after soldier collapsed to the ground. 

He ducked back behind the rooftop edge as some soldiers spotted him and promptly returned fire. An eerie current pulsed through the air, smelling of ozone and burnt fish and making the small hairs on the back of his neck stand straight, and Obi-Wan smiled grimly. That would be the ion detonator he had created from one of the broken Blastechs, paralyzing Wehutti's vehicle. 

Obi-Wan popped back into view, opening fire once more. He watched in horror as Lissa - brave, wonderful Lissa - poked her head up from her own rooftop at the wrong time, and received a bolt to the face for her troubles. She collapsed, and Obi-Wan forced his grief aside as he gunned down the soldier who got the lucky shot. 

He had to duck back again as more soldiers returned fire, peeking back whenever the Force indicated it was safe to do so. Finor was wasting shots, discharging his power pack far faster than he should. Obi-Wan worried - if the trigger-happy boy continued at that rate, he would run out of ammo and be a sitting duck for whatever Melida came looking. 

He fumbled at his belt, armed his only thermal detonator, and tossed it into the crowd. 

Screams erupted as the detonator exploded, Obi-Wan using the distraction to leap from the rooftop. He used the Force to slow his fall, tucking into a roll the second his boots touched the ground, blaster bolts singeing the Jedi outer robe he used to cover his face. 

He opened fire while darting across the street, sliding into cover behind a mangled, overturned crate. The Force all but wailed in warning as the Melida took his bait, turning all their attention towards him. He took a chance to catch his breath and darted back into the open. 

The Young were still firing, and Obi-Wan had to take care to keep his distance lest he get shot by his own people. He opened fire, watching as another soldier collapsed, chest smoking. 

They were winning, by some miracle of the Force. 

He fired at the power cell for Wehutti's escort, throwing himself at the ground as the cell exploded. The Force screamed, and Obi-Wan barely rolled aside in time as a blaster bolt scorched the spot he had just occupied. He fired blindly, trusting the Force to guide him, grimly noting the life flicker and die. 

Then the street was oddly quiet. 

He slowly regained his feet, brushing dust and debris and charred bits he didn't want to think about off his robes. The Melida lay scattered across the street, dead or wounded enough they weren't going to continue the fight. He closed his eyes and felt for the Young in the Force, feeling his heart clench as he noticed the absence of several bright little souls, dead before their time. 

How many raids had he led the Young through without casualties? Why would he fail _now_ , when they were finally reaching the end? 

Obi-Wan struggled to swallow, doing his best to push aside the grief and anger. He had failed to protect them, but he would do his best to fulfill their shared dream. 

Wehutti was trapped in his vehicle. The stubborn, brown haired leader positively panicked as Obi-Wan approached, blaster resting at a casual ready across his chest. His guard looked equally frantic as Obi-Wan used the Force to open the latch keeping the two Melida locked inside. 

Obi-Wan twisted aside as the door sprung open, the guard immediately opening fire. He reared back, slamming the butt of his blaster into the guard's head and sending the guard tumbling across the ground. 

"Wehutti of the Melida," Obi-Wan greeted coldly, shifting so his blaster was even more apparent. He could sense more Young soldiers making their way off rooftops, beginning the grim work of scavenging the battlefield. 

Wehutti's eyes roamed the area, clearing searching for a way out. Obi-Wan shifted so the taller man was blocked inside his vehicle - trapped in all ways by the Young. The man swallowed nervously, eyes slowly rising to meet Obi-Wan's. 

Obi-Wan read the resignation and defeat in them and tried to draw comfort at that. "By order of the Young, you're coming with us." 

They beat Cerasi back to the capitol plaza, but not by much. Nield and Jango had secured the plaza, their own units holding disarmed Elders at blasterpoint throughout the area. Wehutti made a compliant prisoner when he wasn't surrounded by his own people, hunched and small in the binders Jango had procured from Force-knew-where for Obi-Wan and Cerasi. Surrounded by people similarly subdued, Wehutti only seemed to deflate even further. 

His unit was joyous, excited and happy and so beautifully _hopeful_ despite their own losses. It bolstered Obi-Wan's own spirit, helped him keep focused on the objective when all he wanted to do is curl up and mourn. 

Nield greeted their group with a sort of muted hope, automatically counting heads and grimly noting which children did not make it out of the ambush safely. He squeezed one of Obi-Wan's shoulders in solidarity before taking charge of Wehutti, leading the Melida leader to the steps of the capitol building. 

Jango was there next, practically vibrating with alertness as he promptly sent Obi-Wan's unit into positions around the plaza. Obi-Wan nodded gratefully at the older man and dipped into the Force to release his grief and refocus. 

He gasped slightly as he felt a familiar presence. Qui-Gon. 

He looked up as the Jedi Master emerged from the capitol building, looking as perfectly rumpled as ever. His heart ached at the sight, at the cold, assessing gaze the Jedi sent around the plaza and pinned especially on him. Before he knew what he was doing, he approached his former Master. 

"Obi-Wan," the Jedi greeted, face and voice giving nothing away as steely eyes darted over the former Padawan. Obi-Wan removed his face wrapping, discarding the bundle of cloth at their feet. 

"Master Jinn," Obi-Wan replied, trying to shield his wild emotions from the man he had looked up to for so many years. If Qui-Gon sensed his guilt or grief or anything else, he politely kept it to himself. 

"What have you done?" he asked softly, almost brokenly, eyes fixed where Obi-Wan's braid once hung. 

"I'm bringing peace to Melida/Daan," Obi-Wan answered as evenly as he could. He could sense Cerasi arriving behind him, could vaguely hear her declaring an end to the civil war. "It's almost over. The Elders - the Melida and the Daan - they have nothing now. No way to keep fighting, no way to call for aid, and no choice but to compromise." 

Many emotions flashed across Qui-Gon's face, and Obi-Wan recognized grief and hurt before they were all locked behind a Master Jedi's serene façade and solid shields. "Oh Obi-Wan," he sighed, one hand hovering over his shoulder as if the Jedi wished to impart comfort before ultimately retreating back into wide sleeves. Obi-Wan pretended he didn't miss the warm palm and the comfort it could have provided. "The Stalwart has arrived in orbit," he said, voice soft and entreating, "and a shuttle is expected any minute. Come with me." Please, Obi-Wan heard in the following silence. 

Obi-Wan half turned back to the rest of the plaza. Cerasi and Nield stood shoulder to shoulder, the cuffed Melida and Daan leaders glaring between them. Cerasi's unit was dispersed about the area, excitedly mingling with those of Obi-Wan and Nield's units that had remained on the ground. Jango hovered off to one side, leaning casually against a pillar as he took in the scene with a large smirk. 

The children must have taken Obi-Wan's removal of his robe as a signal, since many of them had their faces uncovered. If he had realized how many Young would follow his lead, he would not have unwrapped his own face. Cerasi took the face coverings _seriously._

Obi-Wan turned back to his former Master. "I can't. I need to see this through to the end. We're close, Qui-Gon, surely you can see that. Just a few weeks to establish a treaty, and a few more after that to set up a stable government and stop any rebellions." 

Qui-Gon looked sad for a moment before his expression switched back into that awful cold mask he only wore against Sith. He opened his mouth to say something, but whatever words he had to offer were cut off by a sudden squawk from his and Obi-Wan's commlinks. 

Obi-Wan jumped, scrambling for the device. It was military grade - small, rugged, as expensive as a small freighter, and strong enough to reach a command ship in orbit without signal boosters - and that alone made it still functional. 

A blue hologram erupted from Qui-Gon's commlink, revealing a slim man in dress greys. The captain's hat and tunic were askew, a strange juxtaposition to the man's precise posture and grim face. "General Jinn!" the man addressed as the picture shuddered and fizzled. The captain stumbled, hastily adjusting his balance as the ship he was on rocked from an explosion. "We're under attack! Mandos!" 

Obi-Wan froze, eyes catching Qui-Gon's own before slowly turning towards the sky. 

The wedge-shaped Stalwart was barely visible from the ground, but the distant flashes of turbolaser fire surrounding the battle cruiser drew his eye like a beacon. He watched as tiny specs descended towards the planet, growing larger by the second. 

It took a moment before Obi-Wan recognized them. 

Troop transports. 

And not the friendly kind. 

"Cerasi! Nield!" Obi-Wan yelled, tearing himself away to race towards his friends. The two Young leaders looked at him in concern, hands automatically going for blasters at the alarm in his voice. "Retreat! Gather the Young and retreat! Mandos are coming!" 

The two looked towards the sky and blanched, immediately turning to bark orders at their people. Obi-Wan looked around frantically, trying desperately to find the children Jango had assigned to guard the plaza and their negotiations. His eyes landed on the pirate himself, tucked up tight against a pillar and speaking rapidly into a commlink. 

"Jango!" Obi-Wan called, pushing past a (very) panicked and still cuffed Wehutti to draw close. "Where did you send my unit?" 

The smuggler met his gaze quickly, abruptly ending whatever conversation he had been having. "Rooftops, there and there. Alleyways there and there," he answered readily, gesturing towards the various locations behind Obi-Wan. 

Obi-Wan nodded in thanks, spinning to race towards the nearest rooftop location. 

The Force and his Master shouted in warning, and Obi-Wan threw himself to the ground just in time for a blaster bolt to arc overhead. He scrambled to his feet, hands going for a lightsaber that wasn't there, as he turned to face his attacker. 

Or rather, where his attacker was. 

Jango was already moving, commlink in one hand, blaster in the other. Obi-Wan was forced to dodge to one side as his mind struggled to keep up. 

Jango, the smuggler who had talked philosophy and strategy and empathized at how wrong, wrong, _wrong,_ Melida/Daan was, was shooting at him. 

He struggled to set aside the overwhelming feeling of betrayal. 

A blur of brown and green shot across his vision and Qui-Gon was suddenly there, lightsaber arcing through the air to deflect a flurry of bolts. The older man twisted and spun, taking the opportunity during one of the twists to toss a familiar silver cylinder at Obi-Wan. 

Relief and determination flooded the former Jedi as he ignited the blue blade, quickly taking his place at his Master's back. 

Jango didn't stand a chance against both Jedi. He retreated towards a wall of buildings, commlink replaced with a second blaster as he opened fire. The constant rain of bolts forced Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon to keep deflecting, preventing either Jedi from launching their own attack, but also never getting through their combined defense. 

The Mandalorian drop ships were landing, Obi-Wan noted as Qui-Gon pushed forward to take over their defense and let him breathe for a moment. Mandalorians in full armor poured out of the ships, blasters blazing. He stumbled slightly as his boot caught against Wemont's body, and Jango doubled down on shooting at him as he hastily recovered. 

"Mirshir! Ke'mircir adike!" Jango roared, and Obi-Wan watched in horror as Young began falling all around him. 

Qui-Gon pulsed with concern and determination, sending a quick order through their training bond. Obi-Wan pushed aside his emotions and sent his agreement before the two leapt towards a commando. Obi-Wan struck first, his blade deflected by the lightsaber-resistant beskar, only for Qui-Gon's green saber to slice through both of the Mando's legs from behind. 

The Force pulsed in warning, and Obi-Wan ducked as a spear whipped overhead, shaft catching against his blue blade. Qui-Gon leapt forward, forcing the Mando to disengage and fend off the Jedi Master while Obi-Wan guarded his Master's back. 

Jango was circling the plaza, firing apparently indiscriminately but especially at the two Jedi. Obi-Wan tried to deflect another bolt towards the man, but he dodged the shot easily and returned heavy fire. Obi-Wan gasped as a shot slipped through his defense, singing one shoulder. 

"I can't keep this up, Master!" Obi-Wan warned, struggling as Jango seemed to sense his weakness and fire _even more_ at him. The bastard! 

Qui-Gon sent a pulse of acknowledgement through their bond and used the Force to push the Mando he was fighting away. They traded places, doing their best to push towards cover. Obi-Wan took a moment while the Mando his Master had been engaging picked itself up to recover himself. 

He spotted a collapsed food stall off to one side. He sent the image across the bond and received Qui-Gon's terse acknowledgement and command. 

Obi-Wan did not wait for a signal, gathering the Force around him to lunge for safety. He landed in a roll, lightsaber spinning around him to deflect more blaster bolts, and slid into place against the stall. 

A moment later he realized his mistake. A Mandalorian emerged from behind the stall, long furry tail whipping around to slam into Obi-Wan's chest. All the air left the young Jedi, leaving him gasping as a Selonian Mando slashed a vibroblade towards him. He barely raised his saber to block the blow in time, stumbling as the Mando bore down on him. 

A deflected blaster bolt forced the Mando to retreat, and then Qui-Gon was next to him, pushing the Mando back as Obi-Wan desperately caught his breath. 

Something whistled through the air, and Obi-Wan raised his blade to catch it. The _thing_ offered slight resistance against his blade and then, to his horror, _passed through it_. Qui-Gon grunted as whatever it was hit his back, and Obi-Wan hastily offered a silent apology at his failure. 

Qui-Gon didn't reply - couldn't reply - and Obi-Wan sensed his master stumble behind him. 

He pivoted, ready to take over defending the older Jedi, as two bolts collided with Qui-Gon's chest. 

"Master!" Obi-Wan screamed, deflecting another wave of bolts. 

Qui-Gon collapsed, but Obi-Wan could still feel his Master alive and glimmering in the Force, at least for now. He stepped back, straddling the larger man as best he could, blade twisting and turning to catch more bolts. 

The Selonian Mando darted forwards, vibroblade arcing towards his neck. He deflected the blow and launched his own riposte, forcing the Mando to retreat. Jango sent another torrent of blaster fire upon him, and Obi-Wan was forced to dodge away from Qui-Gon or risk getting hit, which opened his back to the Selonian once more. 

He Force pushed the Selonian away before they could get too close, stumbling back into position over Qui-Gon. He panted, trying desperately to keep up as _more_ Mandos joined the fight. 

He wouldn't make it. There were too many. 

Obi-Wan grit his teeth and sank into the Force, letting his blade weave through the air. He was exhausted, but he couldn't give up. Not now. 

A whistle through the air off to his left. He ducked, quads screaming in protest as he forced himself back up. The Selonian was back, catching his saber with their own blade, and forcing him to twist away as a new series of blaster bolts erupted at his exposed side. 

He stumbled as the Selonian's tail caught his ankle, and then he felt a hypo press against his neck. 

He gasped, hands and feet going instantly numb. His lightsaber shut off as it fell from his grasp, and he staggered, trying to catch himself against the stall. His vision was going dark around the edges, and he blinked furiously to clear it. 

He looked up at the sound of approaching footsteps, barely making out something that looked like Jango as his knees buckled. 

The traitor. He had… trusted… 

-0- 

Jango Fett, titled Ven'alor by the Mandalorian Empire, watched as the former Jedi Padawan fumbled against the upturned food stall. Obi-Wan tried valiantly to stay awake, but it was an ultimately futile gesture. The drugs Suki had injected the former Jedi with were potent and, more importantly, fast-acting. 

He looked away from the fallen Jedi to survey the plaza. Hundreds of Young and Elders lay collapsed across the ground, some dead, most stunned. A handful of commandos were checking bodies, marking the corpses for cleanup and cuffing the incapacitated but very much living remainders. The rest of his men were already fanning out across Zehava, bringing Melida/Daan to heel even as the crippled Stalwart limped back to the Republic. 

It was messier than he would have liked, he reflected with a pang as he saw one Young body get marked as dead. This whole _planet_ was messier than he would have liked. 

But there were some good parts of it, he thought as his gaze dragged back over Obi-Wan's drugged form. And he _had_ just captured a planet the Republic considered valuable enough to send Jedi to defend with little more than a single battleship and a crippled scouting party. 

A smirk played at the edges of his lips. 

Not bad for a fucking milk run. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three chapters in one day, because it's my birthday weekend and you can't stop me. (I didn't edit these chapters as much as I usually do, so if there's a mistake, please let me know.)
> 
> This marks the end of part one! Thank you for reading this far, and thank you especially to everyone who has commented or left kudos. Up next is the integration portion, which is when we will start delving into the dark stuff. My goal is to have that part fully written before I start posting more chapters so we can follow a coherent slide to the Mando side. I'll likely have to adjust the tags again once that happens...


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